


Anything

by olly_octopus



Category: Buzzfeed Unsolved (Web Series)
Genre: Accidental Boners, Again, Angst, Dreams, FLUFFFFFF, Friends to Lovers, Humour, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Making Out, Mutual Pining, Realization, Sexual Tension, Slow Burn, Zach is a sweetheart, aftet they finally consider getting their shit together, ah we lurve bed sharing, and a demon in his head, and holy shit is it a slow burn, and simultaneously a little shit, bed sharing, demon shane, hi I’m procrastinating, its confusing, it’s almost irritating, loads of that shit, oblivious!ryan, oh god dreams have everything to do with everything, rough-housing, shane with a crush, shyan, so demon possessed shane, whoops
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-27
Updated: 2018-08-22
Packaged: 2019-06-17 05:12:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 20,223
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15454065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/olly_octopus/pseuds/olly_octopus
Summary: “I could hurt him,” mutters the voice echoing around inside Shane’s head with a distinct and sickening note of glee. “You have no idea how BADLY I could hurt him...”Shane takes a sharp breath.“No... no, you can’t. Please. I’ll do anything.”The voice pauses. Seems to think about it.“Anything?” She says.“Anything,” Shane replies.***Shane and Ryan find themselves in yet another demon infested house, much to Shane’s disgust, but this time a greater danger lurks in the dark walls. This time, Shane walks away with more than just a repressed crush and a sleeping bag, and it’ll only be a matter of time before someone... or something... has to break.





	1. The Moore House

**Author's Note:**

> Hi I’m procrastinating from doing actual work and I wanted to make this so pls love me haha
> 
> (In this fic, neither of our ghoulboys have girlfriends because in this house we love and respect healthy and loyal relationships and not hating on real people. Thank you.)

Sometimes, Shane wonders why he still agrees to go into these demon houses with Ryan.

It’s not even relevant to proving that ghosts are real, after all, it’s usually just a night of grumbling in sleeping bags with Ryan uncomfortably close and every so often hissing a “Shane? Shane I’m freezing my balls off in here.” And it’s not like Shane gets anything out of it, either; apart from the beauty that is scaring the shit out of his best friend and the odd hilarious commenter when they finally get around to putting up the videos.  
All in all, it’s a night wasted that could instead be spent either binging Netflix shows or with Shane pretending he’s not thinking of Ryan whilst jerking off.

That’s a problem, too, now that he thinks about it.  
Not the whole “wanting to know what Ryan looks like perched between Shane’s thighs” thing, although yes that does present some issues, but rather the whole “Ryan is a clingy little shit in his sleep and Shane has a boner” thing. Ryan Bergara has evidently never heard of personal space in his entire life, and in a cold house, fast asleep, where there’s the Not-At-All possibility of being shanked by what must be a very bored demon, he essentially becomes the human incarnation of a fucking koala. And whenever that happens? Shane is wide awake and painfully aroused.

So why Shane is in the car, on his way to yet another demon house, is a fucking unsolved mystery within itself.

This week on Buzzfeed Unsolved, Shane Madej wonders bitterly why he still agrees to turn up to places that make him want to add a couple more dead bodies to the already ‘haunted’ houses. Also bonus, Shane Madej gets blue balls. (Again. This is the fourth time.)

“You okay back there, Shane?” Calls Ryan from where he’s quite happily chilling up front with the driver. Prick.  
“I’m absolutely wonderful,” Shane says with no conviction whatsoever. It’s only semi deliberate.  
“You’re a fucking liar,” replies Ryan, twisting his head round to grin at where Shane has attempted to squeeze all four of his stupidly elongated limbs into the back seat and is now looking sulky.  
“Come on, Shane, do you think I want to do this?”  
“I mean, considering you mentioned it, are presenting it, and have been planning this for months, the notion did in fact cross my mind.”

Shane tries to get more comfortable to no avail.

Long legs truly are more of a curse than a blessing.

“Shut up, Shane,” says Ryan with a snort. “You’re such a drama queen.”  
“And you’re a pain in the ass,” Shane retorts grumpily. Shane wishes Ryan was a pain in the ass. More specifically up his ass, but whatever. It really would solve so many of his problems. Ryan sniggers and turns back around, presumably to press his nose back up against the window like the three year old that he is. For someone who almost shits himself the second they walk through the door, Ryan does get extremely excited for haunted houses.

Like, almost irritatingly so.

But, if it makes him happy...

Shane rests his chin on his hand and stares out of the window where the first drops of rain are beginning to slide morosely down the glass. Great. That’s all he needs.

A full night, spent in the dark with no fucking electricity whatsoever, the chance of being debauched by a bitter ghost, assumedly the normal casual boner, and the very real prospect of the roof being hammered in by the rain. Fucking fantastic. He sighs and cranes his neck to try and see where they are, because there’s been precisely nothing for about fifty miles now except fields full of bored cows and the odd crumbling farmhouse. (“Hey Ryan, that farmhouse looks like it’ll be more comfortable than where we’re going to be sle—“ “Shut up, Shane”)

The rain begins to make itself heard on the roof of the car, and the driver makes an annoyed little ‘tch’ noise in the back of his throat.  
“There might be a short delay,” he announces with a bitter undertone in his voice. Ryan gives a tiny disappointed sigh and Shane rolls his eyes at him.  
“The longer the better,” mutters Shane, and Ryan does the squinty chihuahua face thing at him from the front seat.  
“Shut up.”

Tame.

The Moore House, then.

Ryan had been very excited about this one, having essentially marched into the office and slammed down a stapled stack of papers on Shane’s desk. He had then proceeded to rant about the case for a good fifteen minutes before a hesitant looking Steven tapped him on the shoulder and said he wanted a quick favour at which Ryan had begrudgingly nodded and ordered Shane to read through the files before following Steven away across the office.  
Shane did suspect that Steven had done it purely to stop Ryan from telling Shane every wallpaper shade in the house, which to be honest he was quite grateful for.

The case files, when Shane did actually get round to looking at them, had been quite a good read.

Supposedly it had been home to a young couple in the early 1980s, Joe and Nathaniel. It was still kind of a time when homosexuality was about as welcome in the average middle class family as the plague, and so neither of the young men had been exactly eager to call the police or really anyone in their time there. The first two months had apparently been fine but on the fifteenth of August there had been an… incident.

Joe had woken up in the middle of the night to find Nathaniel standing in the middle of the bedroom, supposedly standing perfectly still, staring at the wall and had not responded to any of Joe’s calls to him. So, the average kind of demonic shit.

After five minutes of this, he had finally come round and remembered none of it.

Shit evidently started going weird from there, including doors banging open and shut, girl’s laughter in the dead of night, rooms torn apart and so on and so forth until the young couple finally seemed to find the common sense they were born with and fucked off out of the house. They’re in their mid fifties, now, still alive and well, and Ryan was intending to pay a visit except that now they live somewhere in Italy and Ryan really, really couldn’t be bothered to go that far across the world just for an interview.

Just as well, really; Shane was beginning to wonder just what lengths Ryan would go to to prove the whole “ghosts are real fuck off shane” situation.

So now they’re off to sleep in this hell-hole, because apparently Ryan has the survival instincts of a lemming on steroids. Great.

Shane must have dozed off at some point, a miracle within itself considering that his legs are more or less in the shape of a rather unappetising pretzel and every so often Ryan will announce another detail on the case that he’s managed to procure with some extremely dodgy 4G. He knows that he must have dozed off because when he awakens again the wind is howling like it’s ready to tear off the roof of the car and the rain is hammering against the glass.  
“This is like… pathetic whatsit,” mutters Ryan from the front seat.  
“Pathetic fallacy,” intervenes Shane, staring up at the vast brick walls. Or at least, what he can see of them through the haze of rainwater and darkness.

“Are we… are we getting inside?” Ryan casts an expectant look in Shane’s direction, and Shane gives a resigned sigh.  
“Tragically, I think we might have to.”

Shane wrestles his hoodie off in the cramped car and holds it like a Roman shield in the turtle formation. (Ruining History does, after all, have some beneficial learning aspects to it.) Ryan just looks gloomily at the storm outside, and Shane sighs and pushes his way out of the car and speed walks round to Ryan’s door so that Ryan and his huge bag full of useless ‘technology’ can squeeze underneath the hoodie-shield thing. He gives a mutter of thanks before both of them leg it towards the Moore House whilst the wind and rain whips around them.

They make it to the door, both somehow already drenched and with their hair plastered to their heads like twelve year old boys who had just discovered hair gel for the first time in their lives.

Ryan gives a hesitant knock, glances at Shane and then knocks again, louder. Three times, then he steps back a little and instinctively moves a little closer to Shane. Shane almost makes a scathing comment, then remembers that Ryan’s probably on the verge of shitting himself and so he drops it.

Ten seconds go by.

A long, painful, ten seconds go by in which the wind only gets worse and Shane can feel Ryan holding his breath from beside him...  
Then the door bangs open and Ryan jumps about three feet in the air. A man is standing in the doorway, tall and gangly and staring at both of them with an air of almost amusement about him. He has dark hair that’s getting a little long, curling around his ears and jawline, and his face is pale and looks like it might not have seen the light in a little while. He’s wearing a shirt that’s rolled up to the elbows, and jeans that look more than a little scruffy. Ryan, if anything, gets even more tense. The man smiles, but his dark eyes don’t change.

“Hello,” he says with a voice that’s like the feeling one gets from accidentally stepping in something wet with one's socks on. It also sounds vaguely British. “Are you coming in?”

There’s a crash of lightning from somewhere in the distance, and Ryan gives a tiny squeak. The man’s eyes flicker above their heads towards where the sound came from. He doesn’t seem fazed, however.  
“Hm,” he says monotonously. “I suppose it will be a little frightening to those who aren’t used to it. But it does get like this often in the country, I’m afraid.” His eyes fall upon Shane. “But, I’m sure it’ll all be over soon. You won’t be staying long anyway. They never do.” The man gives one final look up and down of Shane before seeming to make a decision in his own head.  
“Come,” he announces at last, beckoning to where the glow of a light is showing from inside the house. “Make yourselves… comfortable.”

Quite frankly, Shane’s not sure he’s been less comfortable in his entire life. Nevertheless, he follows the man’s instructions and steps through the threshold with Ryan in quick succession.  
“My name is Andrew,” the man explains, leading the two towards an unexpectedly plush looking sofa. “I look after this house, clean it, arrange business, make sure our guests are always alright. No one else ever wants to stick around for long.”  
“So how comes you’re still here?” Shane asks suspiciously. Andrew gives a strange half smile.  
“Oh, she doesn’t care about me. I don’t bother her, and she’s never seen the point in bothering me. I’m far too boring for her likings.”

Ryan glances up from where he’s evidently been trying to merge himself and the sofa into one being.  
“She? Who’s ‘she’? Are you referring to the supposed demon?”  
Andrew nods, crossing his legs at the ankle in a way Shane recognises with some bitterness as the ‘I’m far too tall to sit comfortably in any given situation’ pose. He knows it all too well.  
“Belle, she calls herself. Belle Moore. I don’t know her real name, but she seems to want a Wikipedia page one way or another so she gave herself a name.” He glances over at Ryan. “Don’t get close to her. Don’t let a name and a gender fool you. She’s not a ghost, she’s not a human and she’s so dangerous she needs a warning… except that nobody believes in demons. And so everybody falls for it.”

He looks suddenly at Shane, as though he can read his mind.  
“Everybody,” he says again, more firmly.

Shane shifts a little where he sits, suddenly feeling more than a little on edge. Andrew’s dark eyes seem to eat into him, and although he’d never admit it, Shane is starting to think that there may in fact be more danger at hand than the chance of the roof falling in on top of their heads after all…

“Thank you,” says Ryan in a slightly awed voice. Andrews eyes snap to Ryan’s face, and Shane blinks back into reality. Just as well.  
“You’re welcome,” replies Andrew, back in his usual unsettling character. Shane isn’t sure whether this is an improvement or not.  
“I trust you don’t need anything more?” Andrew waits for a second, and when there’s no reply he nods and gets to his feet. “I’ll be off, then. I have a small place of residence just a little way away… I’ll be back in the morning to see that you’re both alright. Only,” he adds, “please don’t try to disturb her or attract attention to yourselves. She won’t like that.”

Andrew makes his way to the door, and Shane hears a murmured, “she won’t like that at all,” as he leaves and the door bangs shut behind him.

Ryan grins in a weird limbo between excited and terrified.  
“Well,” he says in a tone that indicates his eagerness to get up and start doing something. “He seemed to have a very positive outlook on the whole situation, didn’t he?”  
Shane sniggers, trying to shake loose the feeling that Andrew had placed there.  
“Yeah, if I didn’t know better I’d say he wanted us to stay here forever!” A wheeze from Ryan, at that.

They spend another five minutes cracking jokes and making sarcastic comments about Andrew’s whole manner whilst setting up the recording equipment. Shane feels a little lighter, yet he still can’t quite let go of the nagging worry that they might not be as safe as they think and Andrew may have had a point. But Andrew’s a bit of a lunatic, Shane tries to assure himself. Probably been cooped up in this house for too long and just started preparing his PowerPoint on the ten reasons why it’s a great idea to waste your life trying to scare tourists.

And yet…

And yet.

Shane takes one last, tentative look at the door that Andrew vanished out of before Ryan announces that he’s done setting everything up. Ryan, at least, looks a lot happier than he did twenty minutes previously and this is some comfort to Shane. When Ryan’s okay, the world is a little brighter, even if it’s only for a short while...

Yes, he really must do something about this crush of his.


	2. A Grimy Handprint

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yo I’m back pls give me validation

If you ask Ryan, that Andrew guy had a bit of a screw loose.

Unfortunately, no one asks Ryan because he’s alone in an ancient house with only Shane for company, and Shane is otherwise distracted with something or other. After about a minute of hopefully waiting for him to bring back up the subject of Andrew, Ryan realises he might actually have to be the first to say it.

“If you ask me, that Andrew guy had a bit of a screw loose.”  
Shane hums in vague agreement, and Ryan rolls his eyes. Down here. Yes. You, up there. Attention please.  
“Aren’t you meant to be the one who believes in all this shabang?”  
“I mean yeah, but like Andrew clearly isn’t fucking normal. I dunno what we should believe coming from him.”  
Shane hums, seeming pretty neutral for possibly the first time in his life. Amazing.  
“I dunno, just… maybe we shouldn’t use the spirit box thing this time round. I’m not scared or anything,” he clarifies hurriedly. “Just… it might not be the best idea this time, yeah?” He looks at Ryan tentatively.

Ryan blinks a little.

“Shane, are you sure this isn’t just you wanting desperately not to use the spirit box because you hate the noise? Cos that’s kinda what it seems like to me.”  
He shakes his head, turning away from Shane.  
“I’m sure it can’t hurt. Maybe she’ll want to tell us something really cool, like ‘oh yeah I think after all these years I’m ready to release my murder story to YouTube’ and we’ll all get really famous.”  
“You think this fucking demon knows what YouTube is? And more importantly, you think she’ll tell it all to us?”

Ryan sighs and shrugs as they enter the kitchen.  
“Drop it, Shane. We’ll just see how it goes, okay?”

The kitchen is fairly small, a little antique stove in the corner, counters with what’s probably artificial food and kitchenware arranged neatly on it or perhaps to look as though someone had just walked out and left and never come back. There’s an oil lamp on the table, and the room gives a feel of homeliness but with something… off. 

Ryan treads lightly on the uneven stone tiles as though he’s afraid they’re going to collapse under his feet at any second. Shane follows soon after, eyes trailing over the counters and stove and large rectangular table shoved into the corner. He runs one long finger along one of the counters and brings it up to his face.  
“I’ll say this for Andrew, Ryan, he does at least keep this place clean.”  
“Good job. The last thing we need on top of all of this is getting some weird illness from infected dust or something.”  
Shane wrinkles his nose.  
“Is that a thing?”  
“Who knows.”

Ryan takes in the view of the kitchen before hoisting himself up onto the table.  
“Apparently there was meant to be like, demonic activity and shit down here. Plates thrown, chairs turned over, just stuff like that.”  
Shane looks around.  
“I mean, the chairs seem to be pretty upright. And look; we’re not being assaulted by an onslaught of flying pottery either.”  
“Well, I’m just passing the message on. I don’t know what happened.”

Next, the dining room.

Here, Ryan makes sure to immediately maneuver himself to the large, ornate table which he perches on, taking care to not tip the whole thing over.  
“This is meant to be where Belle- or whatever the demon’s name is- cracked the legs from underneath the table.” Shane gives him a scathing look.  
“Doesn’t seem very cracked to me.”  
“Well, they’ll have gotten a replacement, won’t they?”

To be honest, Ryan himself isn’t quite sure anymore and he’s beginning to think the whole thing’s a bit of a waste of time. Nevertheless, he’s started now so he might as well see this thing through to the end… who knows? They might even order themselves some pizza again.

Shane picks up a plate from the carefully stacked pile on the display cabinet, most likely bought afresh by Andrew.  
“I mean, if this was smashed, Andrew must be a fucking miracle worker or at least have some really good connections with repairers.”  
“Shut up, Shane, you’re just trying to make things difficult.”  
Shane denys nothing.

Next, the bedroom.

Ryan lays himself down on the bed after circling it a couple of times, the mattress stiff and the blanket thin and a little itchy. Shane is busy somewhere on the other side of the room, probably trying to find a bit of paper or something that says ‘SCAM!! YOU WERE FOOLED!! IT’S NOT A DEMON!! JUST A BIT OF EXTRA CASH AND A COUPLE OF PHONEY STORYBOOKS!!’ Huh. He narrows his eyes a little in the darkness, then goes stiff.

Ryan squints up at the ceiling from where he’s positioned, spreadeagled out on the bed that smells of old books and dust.  
“There’s a handprint up there,” he says shakily, pointing just above him to where, sure enough, the grimy imprint of a hand is displayed. Shane frowns and lays down next to him as a fresh plethora of creaks come from the old mattress.  
“Wow, Andrew must really clean in some weird places,” mutters Shane. Ryan gives him a dirty look.  
“I’m serious, Shane, I don’t think this is a good sign.”  
Shane doesn’t answer. After a while, he speaks again.  
“Imagine being those guys when they’re trying to have, like, sexy times.”   
Ryan looks at Shane like he’s gone mad.  
“Sexy times? Shane, this is a demon house, not your weird sexual fantasy.”  
“Exactly, though, like imagine trying to be all sexy and shit when there’s a demon just lurking in the corner of your room!”

Ryan blinks, then it clicks and he starts wheezing.  
“Oh my god—- just, like they lay down on the bed and then—“  
“Mm, yeah, you want me to— OH MY GOD!! WHAT IS THAT IN THE FUCKING—- AHHHHH!!”  
Ryan’s just laughing helplessly now, and when they get up again all thoughts of the grimy handprint are gone from his mind.

They traipse around a couple more rooms that look much the same as the rest of the house; dark and dingy. Then, they get to the nursery.

“I assume this was never used,” says Shane drily right off the bat.  
“...Why?”  
“Well, you know, because it was two dudes— oh, never mind.”

He settles himself in the middle of the room, long legs put at weird angles so that Ryan could find somewhere to sit quite close to him.  
“I assume we’re doing your stupid fucking spirit box thing?”  
“Obviously.”  
Ryan makes himself comfortable opposite Shane, and glances around the room.  
“Uh, before I do anything, do you want to answer some questions first?” He asks the empty room. Shane just watches him.  
“Uh, so you’re Belle, right? Is that your real name?”  
Silence.  
“Okay, is it true that you once drove two guys out of this house back in the eighties? Joe and Nathaniel?”  
Silence.  
“Do you want us to get out?” Ryan tries one last time.  
Silence.

“Hey demon!” Calls Shane, and Ryan jumps.  
“Hey demon! Come down here and get me if you think you’re fucking hard enough! You remember those two guys? Well, they’ve got nothing on the ghoulboys! Me and Ryan, we’re going to come and live here and there’s nothing you can do about it!”  
“Shut up, Shane, don’t you dare fucking bring me into this—“  
“We’re going to come live here and sleep on your bed! We’ll eat off your plates! There won’t be Andrew around here anymore to keep you from hurting us! In fact, he’s not here right now! So why don’t you come and show us a lesson?”

“Oh my god,” Ryan mutters, looking a little pale even though it’s difficult to see in the darkness of the house.  
“See, there’s nothing,” says Shane, turning back to him.

Ryan turns to Shane, opening his mouth to say something, but suddenly he tenses up, looking terrified.  
“Did you— did you hear that?”  
“Hear what?” says Shane, sounding rather bored.  
“Hear— there it is again!”  
It had been laughter. Soft laughter, like from a manufactured girl. Shane just looks wildly unimpressed, which honestly Ryan isn’t surprised by in the slightest.  
“Ryan, it was a fucking owl-“  
“What owl sounds like that?!”

Shane, for all his previous doubts and concerns, is now just infuriatingly unfazed by the whole ordeal.

“I dunno. An owl kind. I don’t listen to different types of owl calls in my spare time, believe it or not.”  
Ryan scowls at him, also subconsciously moving a little closer to his friend… just in case. Just in case of… anything.  
“Fine. You have it your way.”  
“I will.”

Twat. Always has to have the last word.

In a somewhat petty revenge that nevertheless makes Ryan feel better, he turns on the spirit box and spitefully enjoys Shane’s look of twisted discomfort as the normal grinding and static sounds emit from the box.

“Belle,” Ryan begins. “Can you hear us?” There's no reply, but that’s expected.  
“Okay. Can you tell us what happened? Like, did the guys try and piss you off, or…?” He waits in silence, and is about to ask the next question when suddenly the static changes and there’s a faint voice. He freezes.  
“I—. I don- t-., l-ike,, yo-u he—ere.,.”  
“Shane,” Ryan hisses in terror, and he’s met with a similar look of shock and concern on his friend’s face. “Shane, did you fucking hear—“  
“Ssshh,” says Shane, actually listening to the box for probably the first time.  
“Y.,ou- shou.l,,n—t h—-ave c.om,.e.,..”

The voice is clearly female, or at least an imitation of what it knows ‘female’ sounds like. Both Shane and Ryan sit in tense silence for about another minute, but the voice says no more. Ryan exhales shakily.

“You heard that.”  
“I heard… something.”  
“Come on, Shane!” says Ryan angrily.  
“We both know what that said, and we both know it’s not good.”  
Shane shrugs.  
“I just—“  
“You just can’t admit it’s a loss for the shaniacs! That’s what it is!”

Shane looks taken aback at Ryan’s suddenly harsh voice, and Ryan feels a pang of guilt at his hurt expression before shrugging it off.  
“Let’s just… we’ll leave the spirit box for tonight, shall we?”  
Shane nods, the unpleasant static still going off in the background.  
“Probably for the best.”

They turn off the spirit box.

In the bleak silence that follows, Ryan feels a strange urge to give Shane a hug, feel his body heat, know that he’s calm and okay and apologise for being so mean to him… but he doesn’t. Shane is just sitting on the end of the bed, silent and almost like he’s sulking or upset, which is dumb because Ryan hasn’t done anything… Damn. Why do feelings have to be so complicated?  
“Shane,” says Ryan quietly. “Sorry if I was a bit abrupt. I’m just… I’m tired.”  
It’s a stupid excuse, but it’s the best one Ryan can think of in the moment and Shane seems to accept it. Both of them have kind of forgotten that the cameras are still rolling and have been for a little while.

“It’s fine,” says Shane unconvincingly, and he gets up from the mattress with a wince that suggests he’s starting to get stiff and he needs to lay down soon.  
“We can always stop this for tonight,” Ryan offers, but Shane waves him off.  
“Nah… It’ll be okay. We’ll do the fucking haunted room thing and then we can call it a night, yeah?”  
“...Yeah.”

There’s a weird air of tension about both of them that hadn’t been there before, and Ryan just wants to shove Shane down onto the uncomfortable double bed and just yell at him to get some rest and stop being a fucking martyr about the whole thing, but he knows the weird fanfics that would come from that would just be too bad to handle. His brother, in particular, takes delight in finding the really fucking weird ones and reading them out loud to Ryan, preferably in an uncomfortably public setting or, even better, at their conservative religious grandparents’ house. Ryan still sometimes has PTSD flashbacks to that one fic where he bangs the living daylights out of his best friend at the dumb Hellclub kinky sex dungeon thing from Ruining History.

Ugh.

Ryan leads Shane along a long, dimly lit corridor, until finally they come up to a rather ominous looking door of dark wood, only a little taller than Shane himself.

“This is meant to be where the demon is most active,” says Ryan with a slight tremor in his voice. “Uh, it’s the library… not very big, but apparently there was like book hurling and shit like that.”  
“And you want me to go in first, I assume.”  
Ryan hesitates, and is about to tell Shane that he really doesn’t mind and Ryan can go in first if he is wishes… but Shane has already translated his silence.  
“That’ll be a yes, then.”

Shane pulls open the door with a rather loud creak, and Ryan just watches in anticipation as the door closes again on his best friend’s back.

Please be okay, he wills inside his head.

Please, please be okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :))))


	3. Two Halves of the Same Story

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello I wrote some more bullshit cos I like doing it and apparently yall like seeing it haha idk y but thanks 
> 
> also this ended up a lil darker/more sexual/more angsty than I intended so if you’re sensitive to any of that shabang (like something threatening someone else) pls click off cos I’m not tryna upset anyone

The second Shane steps into the room, he knows something’s wrong. Something, although he doesn’t quite know what yet, is dreadfully, dreadfully wrong.

“Hello?” He says to the air.

And the air replies.

“Hello,” it says in a voice that’s sugar-sweet and laced with poison. “And who is this?” Then it laughs, not needing an answer.   
“Oh. Shane. You were so awfully rude before, weren’t you? Gosh, you’re brave, considering you’re carrying such precious cargo. One might even think you didn’t care… but of course, you do. You care so much it’s killing you.”  
“I… I don’t know what you mean.”  
The voice sighs, and she’s female now, instead of just dancing danger in the air.  
“Oh… this is tedious. What’s his name, now; Ryan?” There’s a pause. “Ryan Bergara.” She giggles softly.

“It’d be like dropping an egg.”  
Another giggle.  
“Pick it up, take it to the highest place you can think of and watch the descent as gravity works its magic. Watch the shell smash into a million pieces on the concrete; the insides split and ooze out, seeping into the cracks in the pavement and down the drains until there’s nothing left but an empty, broken shell.”  
Shane can feel his breath getting caught up in his throat.  
“I wouldn’t… I would never…”  
“Oh I know you wouldn’t. But I would. And I would make you watch. Don’t believe in demons, Shane Madej? Get ready to believe in me until you can’t close your eyes at night without seeing his dead, lifeless corpse on the backs of your eyelids and in the dark recesses of your mind.”

Shane feels sick.

“Oh, but he means so much more to you than a best friend,” the voice continues, relishing his pain.  
“There’s so much here… so much up here in your head, oh, my this is good…”   
She’s positively gleeful now, and Shane can feel a tingling feeling inside his head that he doesn’t trust whatsoever.

A scene flashes before his mind’s eye; the edges fuzzy and the image saturated and airbrushed. It’s familiar, the reoccurring dream he’s been having where Ryan and him get caught in the rain and end up in a shop somewhere whilst cuddling for warmth… it’s a favourite of his and Shane finds himself compulsively smiling at the memory. 

This image is one of Ryan soaking wet from the storm outside, grinning at Shane as though the whole thing is just one massive, wildly funny joke.

Then it’s gone and Shane is brought sharply back to reality and to the soft laughter that’s like the shine on the blade of a knife.  
“But that’s only a part of it, isn’t it Shane? You want so much more than that.”  
Shane feels the tingling again inside his head, but he screws up his face and concentrated as hard as he can and it stops.  
“Feeling rebellious? Don’t want me to bring up those particular fantasies?”  
Shane says nothing.  
“No matter, no matter. I can leave you. I’ll never have to bother you ever again, if that’s what you really want…”  
This sounds great, but there’s still the razor sharp edge to her voice that suggests he’s not as safe as she’s implying.  
“The catch?”  
“Oh, yes, the catch. Sorry, I quite forgot to mention that.”

There’s silence.

“...Belle?”  
“The catch is that I’m going to tear that boy out there in the corridor into a million bloody pieces and I’ll make you watch me do it. And I’ll make it slow… I’ll make it so that you have to watch as tears spill down that pretty face and the screams echo around these halls as the blood trickles down the cracks in the floorboards.

“I could hurt him,” mutters the voice echoing around inside Shane’s head with a distinct and sickening note of glee. “You have no idea how BADLY I could hurt him...”

Suddenly, there’s a banging on the door and Shane’s head snaps round, a million worst case scenarios playing out in his mind.  
“Shane? Are you still in there? Has something happened?”  
“It’s up to you,” murmurs Belle. “It’s all up to you. Open that door, I get out. I get to him. You get to watch, helpless, as he dies an excruciating death on that floor. You leave it shut? You let me inside your head. You let me see everything; you let me do whatever I like with you.”  
“That’s blackmail.”  
“And I’m not Casper the Friendly Fucking Ghost. I’m a demon. What do you expect?”

She lets him think.

“It’s up to you. His future, and yours, lay in your hands. You can try to fight me, but ultimately the only thing that’ll happen is that you’ll die a slow, painful death, promptly followed by Ryan. Would you like your best friend to watch you bleed out onto the floor? Is that what you want?”

Outside, the banging starts again.  
“Shane? Shane, it’s been longer than a minute… it’s been way longer than a minute; are you okay?”

Shane takes a sharp breath.  
“No... no, you can’t. Please. I’ll do anything.”

The voice pauses. Seems to think about it.  
“Anything?” She purrs.  
“Anything,” Shane replies.

***

Ryan’s still banging desperately on the door when Shane comes out.

“Shane— Shane FUCK, I THOUGHT YOU HAD- SHANE. Shane…”  
“I’m fine,” mutters Shane, knuckles white and taught on the doorframe, trembling from head to foot, head turned away from his best friend so that he can’t see his face. Ryan sounds like he’s about to sob.  
“Fuck, man, that wasn’t cool, that was fucking terrifying… I thought maybe…”  
Then he gets a hold of himself.  
“I… I don’t know what I thought. I was so fucking scared- is this your idea of a fucking joke? Was that a joke?”   
“No, Ry, I just… the door. It got stuck.”

The use of Ryan’s nickname at least seems to calm Ryan down, and he nods shakily and takes a step forwards as though to hug Shane. He puts a hand out and touches his friend’s arm, but then withdraws it at once.  
“You’re ice cold,” he says, shocked.  
“You feel like you just came from the Antarctic, what the fuck?”

He shakes his head.  
“Look, I don’t give a shit about doing the room; this is absolutely where we stop tonight. And you don't have to tell me what happened, although shit I’d appreciate it…”  
Shane doesn’t think he can breathe, let alone speak more than three words at a time. She’s there. She’s up there. And there’s absolutely nothing he can do about it.   
“Shane,” says Ryan gently, and he feels another wave of tingles rush over him.  
“Shane, I’m going to get you to bed, okay?”  
He nods.

There’s nothing else he can do.

Belle sits inside of him, watching everything play out as Ryan leads Shane along the corridor as the torrential rain continues stubbornly on the roof. He can feel her. Doing nothing, yet, but just… observing.  
“That looks like it hurts,” she remarks calmly to Shane, referring to Ryan’s arm around his waist. “I should remove it for you. Forcefully.”  
“Belle, stop,” he thinks, and she chuckles darkly.  
“Ah, but of course; we had a deal.”

Shane grits his teeth as fire explodes inside his left leg, making it buckle underneath him as pain courses throughout his whole being. It’s all he can do to not scream out loud, and Ryan is almost brought down with him.  
“Shane— are you okay?!”  
“I’m fine,” he says again, not sure if he’s ever been less fine in his life.  
He gets up again, and Ryan is right there with him, holding him up and coaxing him the rest of the way to the bedroom and honestly? Shane wants to cry. He came so close to losing him. So close that he’s sure he can smell blood in the air, like the worst has already happened and this is just some hyper-realistic dream brought on by hysteria and grief.

But no.

Ryan is a warm, solid weight beside him and Shane knows that he’s not about to get up and leave during the night while he knows Shane’s like this…  
It’s a blessing and a curse.

Ryan kind of gazes at Shane before either of them succumb to the heavy pull of sleep, gorgeous brown eyes rich and warm as they rest upon Shane.

“Hey,” Ryan murmurs, his gaze unwavering and searching. “Will you stay here? With me? Like, you won’t go wandering or anything will you?”  
“...Of course not. Why?”  
“I don’t know, I just… I’m worried about you. And I’d like to know that you’re not going to leave me or try do anything stupid tonight while I’m asleep, ok?”

Shane doesn’t quite know what to say. Belle does. 

“How cute,” she hisses to Shane. “He’s frightened. Doesn’t it make you feel good knowing you caused this? Knowing you’re the reason he’s worrying that in the morning he’ll wake up and find that he no longer has a best friend? Wouldn’t it be awful if, one day…” She pauses, and suddenly there’s a searing pain in Shane’s chest that feels like he’s going to have a heart attack— and then, just as soon as it came, it’s gone.

“I promise I’ll stay,” Shane manages, still struggling to get his breath back and Ryan seems comforted by this.  
“Thank you. Er, goodnight.”

He closes his eyes.

“You love him,” says Belle.   
Shane doesn’t answer.  
“How does it feel knowing that he’ll only ever see you as a friend? That you’ll have to watch, powerless, as he gets a girlfriend and gets married and has kids with her? That beautiful, perfect girl that you can’t ever be. You can’t ever be to him what he is to you. You couldn’t ever give him the kids every man wants. You might even, if you’re lucky, get to stand at the altar, best man, as a nameless, faceless girl goes to meet him. You might be the godfather of his son. That is,” she muses, “if I let you live that long.”  
He should push her out. He knows he should. But Shane is tired, and Belle is just re-using the thoughts that are already congealing in his mind.

Sleep takes over, eventually.

 

Fragments of shattered glass lay on the pavement before him, deadly shards of glittering blades making a path from here to the window. The back alley is small and completely deserted, no street lights illuminating the way and nobody stupid enough to try and explore the hidden corners of the city… except that there’s… something. It’s a gamble, of course. The thing itself is like a misshapen shadow, impossible to see in the darkness and only a vague outline visible to Shane.

He steps forwards, slowly, the night like a predator, watching.  
Taking note of his every move.

The gentle crunching noises from underneath his feet he knows come from the smashed glass, and as he moves on, he can see there’s a thin trail of crushed glass winding along the cobbled alleyway, all the way up to the mysterious shadow in the corner. Still curious, Shane goes on, and now in the pale light from the moonbeams he sees… something else.  
Something sinister.  
A glistening, barely visible rivulet of dark, crimson liquid.   
This, too, seems to be winding in the same path as the broken glass, their trails entwining like two halves of the same story, completing the tale.

What is this tale?  
Who wrote it?  
And, most importantly, how will it end?

Shane walks on. 

The shadow figure seems to move a little as Shane gets closer, what might be a foot stretching out and then being withdrawn instantly as though the figure is in pain and trying to struggle through the agony. A soft whimpering can be heard too, now, like a small animal caught in a trap or a young child crying for its mother. And it sounds… familiar.

Dread pooling in the pit of Shane’s stomach, he quickens his step, stumbling a little over the uneven cobbles as he tries to get to the figure.

Before he knows it, he’s running, heart thumping in his chest and he’s biting his lip so hard he can taste blood in his mouth. Metallic. Unforgiving.  
Then, he’s beside the figure and he drops to his knees, not caring that he’s probably cutting them to ribbons with the splintered glass and soaking his trousers in what he knows can only be blood, warm and sickening.  
“Ryan,” he chokes out, and, at the mention of his name, Ryan turns his head, staring at Shane with unbridled fear and torment in his beautiful brown eyes.  
“Shane…” A small, thin line of blood trickles out of the corner of his lips and down his chin, his normally perfect, milky tea coloured skin pale as the moonlight above them.

“Oh god- I never meant… I never wanted…” Shane is frantic now, trying to find some impossible way to stop the flow of blood he doesn’t even know the origin of. Where’s Ryan bleeding from?

“Shane,” Ryan repeats, eyes roving over his friend’s face as if he’s trying to search for something in it.  
“Shane, why didn’t you save me…?”  
“W-what?”  
“Why didn’t you stop her? Why did you let her get me? Why are you letting me die now? Aren’t you going to help me…?”

Shane wants to help, Shane wants to stop the blood, he wants to kiss Ryan until somehow he’s okay again but he doesn’t know how.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I promise I’ll fix this, I promise, Ry—“  
“But it’s too late,” whispers Ryan, breath barely even coming anymore and eyes glossing over.  
“No, no, no, it’s never too late, I can fix this, no, Ry, please-!”  
But, even as he gets the words out, he knows that Ryan can no longer hear him, and the blood trickling out of the lifeless body in his arms is on Shane’s hands in every sense of the phrase.

 

Shane wakes, gasping, in a cold sweat, hair plastered to his forehead and his hands white and grasping at the pillows. 

He feels a tidal wave of relief crash over his body at the sight of Ryan laying sound asleep next to him, or rather with his head laying on Shane’s chest, one leg bent up and nestled against his stomach and the other one quite firmly wedged between Shane’s legs, his knee in a Very Special Place and Shane curses inside his head. He can hear Belle murmur a soft “Language,” But he ignores her. This is none of her fucking business.

Shane tries to edge away; the very last thing he needs on top of a nightmare about his best friend being murdered and it being all Shane’s fault is a boner, thank you so very much universe. Sadly, this does not appear to be Shane Madej’s night, or for that matter, his century in general. If anything, Ryan snuggles closer, knee shifting in the process and oh yes there we go. Fucking fantastic. Exactly what he needs. More confusion.  
In the end, Shane just has to kind of lay there, dick Extremely Clearly wanting attention but unless either Ryan decides he’s going to get Shane off in his sleep (in which case that’ll be a wildly fun morning of explaining why Shane came in his pants like a fifteen year old boy) or Shane feels brave (or stupid) enough to try and get himself off either using his own hand or Ryan’s leg, he really has no other option.

Shane honestly doesn’t remember whether the cameras are still rolling or not, and he feels like he wouldn’t like the answer that would be given. But, he’s not about to create a sex tape anytime soon, so nothing will come of it.

What would that even be called?

‘Man Rides Straight Best Friend’s Leg Until He Comes Also He Has A Fear Kink And Somnophilia and Consent Evidently Do Not Exist In This World Plan’?

A bit wordy.  
Perhaps not one for Pornhub, either.

Sleep does not come again for Shane that night. 

But Belle does, her words and her laughter echoing around Shane’s head even when the sunlight begins to shine through the tiny crack in the curtains and the quiet murmurs of early-morning traffic can be heard on the peaceful country road outside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This weeks on: Olly Pretends They Don’t Have Kinks


	4. The Morning After

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hahaha sex metaphors cunningly disguised as a serious chapter yOU WERE FOOLED
> 
> basically similar amounts of fluff and angst in this one. And probably wayyyy too much dramatic irony but fuck you I do what I want

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> being alive is tiring. u know what else is tiring? being bitter enough that u name a fucking imaginary demon after a crush u once had but go off I guess. oh and also naming a gay couple after a ship u have. yay

When Ryan awakens, it’s to the sound of birds singing outside the one small window in the bedroom and to a solitary ray of glorious sunshine splitting through the curtains and spilling onto the wooden floorboards. He wriggles a little, trying to remember where he is, and it only clicks when he sees the faint imprint of the hand still there on the ceiling.

Ryan’s toes involuntarily curl up underneath the sheets, and he shivers.  
The next thought immediately leading on from that, is Shane.

Shane?

Ryan turns over, craning his neck to try to catch a glimpse of his best friend.

To his huge relief, Shane is fast asleep on the pillow next to him, hair messy and sticking up in weird places, face half pressed into the bed and one hand laying open right next to Ryan. He looks… adorable.   
Like this, with no sarcastic smirk or cynical eyebrow raised, he looks softer and more vulnerable somehow. Sweeter. Without thinking, or indeed without recollection of even moving his hand in the first place, Ryan reaches up and brushes Shane’s hair out of his face. Shane stirs a little, but he only gives a small sigh and moves his head a little before drifting off again. 

Ryan watches him for a little while before eventually coming to the conclusion that this is in fact a vastly creepy thing to be doing, even if it’s all platonic and innocent or whatever. He gets up, being careful not to rouse Shane or make too much of a noise, and goes to the window where, indeed, it is looking like a beautiful day for demon hunting or rather going home from demon hunting.

Ryan likes going home from demon hunting.

He turns on the camera, fixes it so that it’s facing towards the sleeping Shane and begins to murmur about the evening’s events and some spiel about how peculiar it is that Shane’s camera stopped working when he went into the haunted room. That will, at least, guarantee the top comment to be some fucking nonsense about how Shane is a demon and secretly has special little meetings with all his demon pals and he and Ryan can snigger about it whilst scrolling through the replies.  
That’s always fun.

While he’s filming, Shane wakes up, turning a little in the bed and Ryan cheerfully points out how much happier he must be now that there's the necessary twelve metres of space required for his legs. Shane flags him and Ryan feigns shock for the camera before turning it off and straightening up.

“Sleep well?”  
“Slept like a two year old with a sore tummy and on a sugar rush.”  
“Oof,” Ryan winces. “But at least you can sleep in the car.”  
“Ah, will you be cosying up in the front with the driver again?”  
“I don’t have to.” Ryan narrows his eyes. “Are you okay?”

Shane… looks different. He sounds different. He’s using different words.  
“Shane, what’s—“  
“Hey Ryan, have you thought about, maybe, not using me as a human teddy bear? For once in these trips? I know you’ve got separation issues, but I’m not your fucking mother and you’re not four.”  
Put simply, Shane’s words feel like a heavy blow to the stomach and Ryan actually has to take a step back to accommodate for how much it hurts.  
“Dude, what the fuck… I don’t… I know you’re not…”  
“And do you know what else? I’m fucking sick of being around you. You never fucking shut up. It’s always ’oh, Shane, I think you’re annoying and lanky but I want a favour so for now I’m going to stay your friend,’ or ‘hey Shane, I found another stupid fucking video idea for my stupid web series that no one watches except my mum and coworkers who took pity on me’.”  
He’s lost for words, and he can feel tears prickling at the back of his eyes.  
“Shane, that’s not fucking cool.”  
“Do you know what’s not fucking cool, Ryan? Waking up every. Fucking. Morning with a—“

He stops.

Blinks.

“Ryan?”

“What the fuck is wrong with you, Shane?” It’s a whisper, choked up, and Ryan knows tears are sliding down his cheeks but he can’t find it within himself to care anymore. Shane looks shocked, frightened, everything he shouldn’t do when he’s just picked out every single one of Ryan’s insecurities and torn him down with them ruthlessly.  
“Ry, wait, I don’t—“  
“I don’t want to fucking hear it, what the fuck, man? What the FUCK?”

Shane seems stunned. There’s no other word for it. His mouth is opening and closing but no words are coming out, and his eyes are wide. It’s like he doesn’t even remember what he just said.

Ryan takes a shaky breath, furiously wiping away tears from his face.  
“I’m going downstairs. I’m taking the camera equipment. I’m going to eat an apple, and wait for Andrew to come. You, are going to stay here, get some normal clothes on, get your fucking head straight and only then will you follow me. Do you fucking understand me?”  
Shane nods mutely, a flush rising up his face and words not quite on his lips. He tears his eyes away from Ryan as the latter grabs a bag, turns on his heel, walks out the door, and just for good measure slams it behind him.

Is it meant to hurt, Shane?  
Was that meant to sting like a slap to the face?  
What’s the game you’re playing here?

Every step Ryan takes is like a stomp down on Shane’s stupid head, the hotness he can feel pulsing through his head taking control of everything and the white-hot anger merging with the tears still sliding down his face to create something like a storm from the night before. The house no longer feels uncomfortable or scary; the demon can go fuck itself for all Ryan cares because what the fuck? What the actual fuck?

And yet the tears still come, almost like a betrayal to his anger because who wants wet anger when they’re in a state like this? No, what you want is dry anger, every syllable sharp and stinging and the stance steady like a soldier in the ranks. Wet anger means something hurts. Dry anger means someone is fucking going to start hurting in a minute.

Ryan stops. He thinks.

No. No, he doesn’t want to hurt Shane.   
Angry as he might be, punching him in the face will do nothing and Ryan doesn’t quite think giving Shane a nosebleed is going to be the right way to go about anything. Violence is dumb. There are far better ways to make someone feel bad, and Ryan being the six year old that he is, he decides the best course of action is to begin with the Silent Treatment. Yeah, that’ll show him.

 

“I fixed you breakfast,” he says inevitably, ten minutes later.  
“I know it’s just a bowl of cereal, but it’s the only thing I can make in this kitchen.”

Ryan pushes it towards Shane, who is wearing his favourite flannel shirt with the sleeves rolled up. Why do the sleeves have to be rolled up? Doesn’t Shane realise it makes him not want to be mad anymore?  
“Thank you, Ry,” says Shane softly, and Ryan’s heart melts and he wants to forgive Shane for everything he’s ever done in his life… except a couple of those comments hurt like a bastard, and he’s got to remember that.  
“Yeah. Well, I figured you and your eighteen foot high body would need more than a cereal bar and I found cereal in a questionable cupboard. It seems ok.”  
“It’ll be great, thank you.” Ryan can hear the relief bleeding into Shane’s words, and just for a second that weird feeling re-emerges where Ryan wants to catapult himself into Shane’s arms and just feel his warm weight against him?

“Hey, Ryan?”   
“...Mm?”  
“If it means anything, I packed for you while I was upstairs.”  
“Oh. Er, well, thank you. But,” he adds quickly, in case Shane thinks this means Ryan’s forgiven him, “it still doesn’t excuse what you said before.”  
There’s a pause.

“Right.”

Another pause.  
“Ryan?”  
“Yeah?”  
Shane chews nervously on his cuticle across the table.  
“Um. Please, if it’s okay, can you tell me what I said before? I… I don’t remember. What I said. In fact, I don’t remember saying anything at all. I dunno why, but…” he trails off. Ryan stares at him, unsure as to whether he’s trying to play a little mind game or something with him. Eventually, he decides do give Shane the benefit of the doubt.  
“You said… you said I had separation issues. And that I was clingy. And that you’re not my mum. And that you were sick of being around me… and that no one watches my videos except my mum and coworkers who took pity on me.”

He finishes with a small hand gesture as though to say ‘and that’s why I’m fucking upset with you, you douchebag’. Shane is gawking at him.

“I said that?”  
“Every word. And a few more.”  
“I don’t… Oh my god, I’m so sorry… I don’t mean any of that. You know I don’t. I love being around you, okay you’re a bit… affectionate… in your sleep, but I don’t care, and you know your videos are amongst the most successful out of all of buzzfeed! Christ, you have your own channel!”

He tentatively reaches a hand across the table to touch Ryan’s, and to his credit, Ryan doesn’t pull away.  
“I care about you, Ryan,” says Shane gently, tilting his head so that he can look at him through his bangs. “I’m so, so sorry I said that shit before. You probably dream-cheated or something stupid like that, yeah?”   
Ryan snorts.  
“Dream cheated?”  
“Yeah, when you wake up and your girlfriend is ready to suffocate you with a pillow because she had a dream where you were banging her best friend?”  
“...Can’t say I’m familiar.” But he’s grinning now, and Shane’s face relaxes into a cheerful smile.  
“Oh yeah, like, ‘RYAN, I AM GOING TO SHOVE A KATANA UP YOUR ASS,’ ‘oh, the fuck did I do?’ ‘I DREAMT YOU SLEPT WITH MY SISTER SO NOW YOU’RE THE SPAWN OF SATAN.’ Never happened?”

Ryan is laughing, and Shane seems far more at ease.  
“And she just fuckin chases you round the bedroom?”  
“Exactly like that, Ry.”

To prove his point, Shane pretends to wield an imaginary weapon (probably a lamp) whilst scurrying around after Ryan, yelling abuse in a high pitched voice. Ryan gets caught up in the action, and it’s like they’re eleven years old again and playing make-believe in the garden.

Shane and Ryan dodge furniture, climb over it, even in one case stand on top of it where Shane threatens to rugby tackle Ryan with the duvet if he doesn’t stop having sex with his imaginary friend. Ryan is helpless with laughter, and it’s about three minutes in that Shane grabs him and throws him onto the sofa before climbing on top of him, both of them giggling uncontrollably.  
“Do you surrender yet?”  
“Never!”  
“I’ll fuckin make you; don’t think I won’t!”  
“Well, what are you going to do?”

Shane sits back on his heels, evidently thinking, both legs still straddling Ryan.  
“Welllllll…. I could make you buy your own alcohol for a week. I could go move into my mum’s house for a bit. Or, I could tickle you until you beg for mercy?”  
He feigns pensiveness.  
“Yep, I think I like the third option.”  
And, with that, he descends upon Ryan with a playful growl and begins tickling. It’s so ridiculous that it’s fun, and Ryan squeals and tries to shove him off as the remarkably domestic scene plays out in the ancient living room. Ryan wonders, passingly, whether Joe and Nathaniel ever did this kind of stuff before the thought is immediately snuffed by Shane going in with a fresh wave of tickles.

They’re both really enjoying themselves, every so often with Shane yelling out another “HOW DAREEE YOU DEBAUCH MY IMAGINARY MOTHER?? I CAN’T BELIEVE YOU WOULD DO THIS!!” or something to that effect.

In fact, Ryan doesn’t even realise both of Shane’s hands are up his shirt… until he does.

Shane has sat back, presumably to think of another preposterous speech, when they both suddenly become strikingly aware of the fact that Shane’s left hand is remarkably close to Ryan’s nipple, and his right hand is resting on his abs. They’ve no sooner realised this than Ryan’s giggles fade away and he finds himself staring into the large brown eyes of one Shane Alexander Madej… and Shane Alexander Madej is staring right back.

There’s a moment of silence.  
“Shane…?”  
Shane says nothing, but his pupils grow a little wider and he leans a little closer. Ryan can feel the breath getting caught up in his throat, and he tilts his head up just a tiny little bit more…

Then the door bangs open, and Shane’s hands are instantly withdrawn from underneath Ryan’s shirt and it’s a struggle to get his legs untangled from where they’re perfectly comfy on either side of Ryan’s hips.

Andrew… is, well, Andrew.

He doesn’t stare, and he doesn’t twist his face into a sneer. In fact, he doesn’t seem at all faxed by the fact that he’s just walked in on two men he met yesterday looking very, very comfortable in each other’s presence/in each other’s laps. Ryan stammers to produce an explanation.  
“We- Er, we were just… um…”  
“Yes, I’m sure you have a wonderful story lined up and I would so love to hear it just as soon as I’ve finished stripping the beds. I’ll give you time to prepare, shall I then?” And he just walks off. Ryan stares at Shane. Shane avoids meeting it.  
“He does seem a lot less creepy in the morning, doesn’t he?”  
“What, with his hair in a ponytail and with a discernible eye colour?”  
“Yeah, that sounds about right.”

It’s mutually agreed that Andrew is in fact, a lot more pleasant when it’s proved that he owns a waistcoat and hair bobbles and he strips beds, and the tension is somewhat lifted… but it’s not quite gone yet.

There’ll be time to talk later, in the car.  
There’ll be plenty of time.

Perhaps they won’t use that time, but it’ll be available nevertheless.

Once they’ve finished packing up, Andrew comes back downstairs with a less than happy look on his defined features.  
“Shane, may I speak to you for a moment?”  
Shane glances across at Ryan, who shrugs.  
“Er, yes, of course.”  
“Thank you.”  
And he leads him away, off down a corridor.

Ryan watches after them in some concern. What could Andrew possibly want with Shane? It’s not like Shane’s done anything wrong… has he? Ryan shakes his head. It doesn’t matter, anyway. In a few minutes, they’ll be away from this house forever and everything that may or may not have come with it.

It’ll be fine.

Everything will go right back to normal, and everyone will be happy again.

It’ll be… fine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello yes hi I’m desperate for comments is it showing yet and it takes up like thirty seconds so pls my homies


	5. I Dare You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I forgot to mention that a couple sections of this were beta read by my darling mother as I do in fact allow her to read the bits that  
> 1) don’t have swearing in  
> 2) aren’t referencing sex  
> 3) aren’t humourous as she doesn’t own a sense of humour lol I mean wut
> 
> So thanks mum I guess for reading about three words of this

There are a list of things that Shane expects when Andrew leads him out into the hallway and shuts the door behind them, and no it’s not anything to do with sex.

The first thing he’d expect would probably be something to do with, “Are you the one who got the sheets messy because I’m a cleanliness freak and a prude and also I think you and Ryan are fucking”, but that doesn’t come.  
The next, perhaps a classic, “If you break my furniture with your weird little roleplay shenanigans, I will actually shank you”.  
The last, something along the lines of, “I’m a vampire. Fuck you.”  
Would it really surprise anyone?

But none of that happens in the end, because what actually ends up happening is Shane is slammed to the wall by his wrists, and suddenly he’s staring into Andrew’s green eyes that are displaying something very much like fury, and Shane thinks it’s probably for the best that he closes his mouth and holds back anything he was going to say.  
“Belle,” Andrew snarls, staring into Shane’s eyes. Shane tries to awkwardly look away, but suddenly he finds his gaze being dragged back to Andrew by an unseen force.  
“Oh, noticed I’m missing?” Says the voice of a sulky girl.  
“What the fuck do you think you’re playing at; do you REMEMBER what happened last time? Get out of him, right. Now.”  
“No, I don’t think I will, thanks.”

Andrew’s girl tightens on Shane’s wrists, and Shane feels more than a little bit uncomfortable with these new arrangements.  
“Belle, if you’re not going to get out of there, you know what’ll eventually happen. You know you’re not going to get what you want. You know you’ll always be overpowered by—“  
“Yes, well I’m not going to BE overpowered, am I?” Belle hisses, suddenly spitting venom in her words. Shane feels kind of like when you go over to a friend’s house and the friend has a hissy fit with their parents while you’re in the same room. He feels a distinct urge to back away, and then realises he can’t.

Damn.

“They’re not getting their shit together, Andrew,” she spits.  
“They’re not getting bullshit together, and I’ll have plenty of time yet.”

Andrew’s nails are really beginning to hurt Shane, now.  
“Belle, you know that—“  
“Get off me,” she says, a warning note slipping into her voice. “Or I’ll… I’ll hurt  
him. I’ll make him suffer.”  
Andrew says nothing.

Suddenly, there’s a stabbing pain in Shane’s stomach and he doubles over, gasping, Belle letting go of his body and just allowing him to writhe on the floor.  
“Do you see?” She hisses, forcing Shane’s head up so that he’s staring imploringly into Andrew’s face.“Do you see what I can do to him?”  
Andrew lets go, hands releasing Shane and his teeth biting down hard on his  
lower lip, clearly struggling with himself.  
“Stop, Belle,” he mutters. “Stop hurting him. I’ve let go.”  
Then, just as quickly as it came, the pain’s gone and Shane’s left laying curled up on the floorboards with strangled sobs dying away in his throat.  
“Do you see, now?” Belle repeats. “He’s mine. I do whatever I like. And you can’t stop me; you know you can’t.”

“And,” she adds as an afterthought, “if you dare tell him, I’ll fucking kill him in front of you. I will drag him to wherever you are, I will find you and I will slit his fucking throat as you watch. Do not think I won’t.”

Andrew stares at them, before turning on his heel and marching out of the room. Shane feels Belle loosen her grip on his mind, and he wants to cry from relief.  
“That hurt,” he says out loud.  
“Good. It was meant to.” Belle sounds a little uncharacteristically shaken, and this is kind of reassuring in a strange way. It’s not only Shane that was frightened. It’s not only Shane that, just for a second, wasn’t sure whether he was going to see tomorrow’s sunrise.

“I’m going through,” says Shane finally.  
“Right… okay, yes, fine. We’ll go and see your fucking boyfriend.”  
“He’s not my… ugh. Let’s go.”

 

The car journey is… awkward.

Ryan sits in the back seat with Shane, and the driver seems quite happy alone in the front. Shane has a sneaking suspicion he may have actually put on headphones at some point. Ryan is quiet, like he’s thinking, but every so often he glances over at Shane like he’s a jigsaw puzzle and he’s trying to figure him out… he doesn’t like it. Belle doesn’t either.  
“He thinks you’re a freak,” she declares abrasively. “He thinks you’re a homo freak, and you are, aren’t you?”  
Shane stays quiet. Belle doesn’t.  
“I’ve seen inside your head. I’ve seen all your fantasies, your dreams, the things you think about when you’re lonely at two o’clock in the morning. I’ve seen everything, and he’s right to think you’re disgusting. After all, who wants to be best friends with someone who wants to be bent over a table and fucked until they can’t remember their own name?”

“Shut up,” Shane thinks.  
“Who wants to be friends with someone who wants to be handcuffed to the headrest of a bed, Shane?”  
“Shut up,” he repeats, blood starting to rush in his ears.  
“Who wants to be friends with someone who wants to be pushed onto a bed and their face shoved into a pillow while they’re fucked? Who wants to be friends with someone who gets turned on by the idea of being tied up? Who want to be friends with—“  
“SHUT UP! I SAID SHUT UP!!”

Shane slaps a hand over his own mouth, but the damage is already done and Ryan is staring at him, wide eyed, and Shane feels Belle smirking.  
“...Shane?”  
“I’m sorry,” he mumbles, face hot and the car suddenly extremely stuffy and uncomfortable. The driver says nothing, but he lets out a low whistle as though to say, “Well then.”

There’s a silence, then Ryan shifts his hand across to Shane’s.

It’s a silent peace offering, a tiny voice that says “I’m here, and you’re okay,” and Shane takes Ryan’s hand in his own without a second thought. Belle, of course, is right there in his ear with snarky comments and cruel remarks, but Shane really can’t be bothered to listen to her right now. Why would he want to listen to her when his whole world is right there next to him, hand snugly in his own.  
“Hey,” says Ryan in dulcet tones that make Shane want to lean over and kiss him until neither of them can think straight. “I don’t know what’s up, but we’ll get back and it’ll be fine. We can find a cafe, or even just have something in the office, and we can sit back and relax for a bit. It’ll all be okay, whatever it is.”

Shane nods, and tries to believe him. It’d be nice, yes. It’d be nice to wake up and not have a girl’s voice instead his head, to be able to look at Ryan without a snide voice telling him why they’d never, ever be together.

It’d be nice.

“Also,” Ryan continues, his voice taking on a playful note, “I think Zach was talking about finally making a move on Eugene again, so that’ll be really fun to watch as always~”  
Shane sniggers in spite of himself. Zach has been talking about making a move on Eugene for a few months now, and god bless him he tries, but every time he gets close to asking there’s always some sort of intervention, usually by either Ned or Keith who just find the whole thing wildly hilarious. 

Of course, both of them are hyper aware that Zach wants, to put it lightly, snog Eugene’s face off but what do they enjoy more than happy and healthy relationships? Completely ripping the piss out of both of them and thouroughly embarrassing Zach in front of every co worker that has immediately come to watch the second they found out The Event was happening. Sara started a fund for a popcorn machine. Zach hit her, because it’s only fair.

Shane realises he’s lost focus, and he blinks back to the real world only to find that his gaze has shifted to Ryan’s arms.

Holy shit, Ryan’s arms.

In the whole business with being possessed by the demon equivalent of a bratty teenage girl, he’d quite forgotten about those.  
He’d first noticed them on the first day of the job, and Ryan had been making a phone call, sliding a wristband absent-mindedly up and down his arm… and Good Lord Jesus Christ yes hi hello the snack Shane ordered has come and its name is Ryan Ber-fucking-gara. Of course, it only got worse from there as Ryan learned how to work out, like properly work out, and suddenly here is Shane thinking about calling 911 every ten seconds every time Ryan wears short sleeves.

Watching Ryan move tables in short sleeves, Shane imagines, must be very much like dying from feeling too much pleasure during sex.

Suddenly, there’s a splutter of laughter from Shane’s mind and he retreats to that particular palace to where he knows Belle is sitting, once again out of character for the second time that day.  
“What is it? Have you decided you’re going to murder me in my sleep tonight?”  
“No, I just... you’re admiring the arms.”  
She titters a bit.  
“I, too, am admiring the arms actually. God, when he folds them I do quite think we both forget how to speak for at least five seconds.” 

She quite sounds like a couple of Shane’s co-workers, and not only is this confusing but again, it’s also comforting.

She’s not unreasonable.  
She’s not unable to be reached...  
Perhaps all isn’t quite lost yet.

The rest of the journey is lost to the warmth of Ryan’s hand and every so often to the odd excited squeak whenever Ryan spots something only he would find interesting, like a field of assorted sheep and lambs or perhaps even the joys of a horse. But… whenever Ryan’s excited or happy, Shane can’t help but to let a smile cross his face because Ryan lights up the world around him. Shane loves him, and he knows he loves him, and he wouldn’t change that for the world.

Shane sleeps, for a little while.

He’s glad of it; he hadn’t slept probably last night and there’s enough time to sleep, so he does. The lulling hum of the car engine accompanied by Ryan’s hand on his coaxes him into a soft, warm slumber.

 

He’s back in the Moore House, more specifically the bedroom, but this time it’s… different.

The surfaces are brighter, cleaner, the windows showing an entirely different view of the outside world; one of gold and sienna fall with leaves being buffered by the wind past the glass. And Shane is on the floor. He’s just… laying there. And there’s an unfamiliar figure standing across the room from him, looking at him with huge blue unfamiliar eyes. He’s... attractive.  
He’s youthful, late teens to early twenties, dark brown hair, extremely tanned and big blue eyes wide with fear. Well then.

This isn’t his memory.  
It can’t be.  
It has to be someone else’s...someone already inside his head.

Hm. This should be interesting.

“Nat,” the mysterious boy whispers. “Nat, honey, can you hear me?”  
“He can hear because I’m letting him hear,” Shane (or Nat?) hisses with the all-too familiar voice of Belle. “But he won’t be able to soon. He’ll be far, far beyond the depths of what you can reach.”

“I’m not going to let you do that.”  
The boy takes a step forwards, clearly scared out of his wits but with both of his feet staying steady. Belle laughs, and it’s sharp and cruel and it echoes like a bell inside Shane’s head.  
“Oh, Joe. You’re so cute. You think you can save him? You think a wedding ring is going to stop me? I’m not a werewolf, sweetie, I can’t be killed with silver. In fact, I can’t be killed at all.” 

Shane feels something drip down his chin, and he sees Joe go chalk-white.  
“You see this, Joe?” Belle says sweetly, her voice dripping with honey and deadly nightshade... Bella-Donna. From Italian, meaning beautiful woman.  
“I can make him bleed. I can make him talk. I can make him stand up and walk around… I can make him hurt you.” She pauses. “I can hurt HIM.” Another pause. “I can kill him… and I’m going to.”

Joe takes another step forwards, anger tinting his features instead of fear for the first time. Shane feels Belle’s confusion that’s quickly pushed aside.  
“You’re not going to kill him. He’s not going to die.”  
“And what makes you think that?”  
“I love him. I love him more than I love breathing. He is my fucking air, my world, my everything. I spent years,” -another step forwards- “thinking that I was alone,” -another step- “and that everyone thought I was disgusting and unnatural. And then I met him,” -step- “and he turned my world upside down. I knew what it felt like to love. I know what it felt like to be so unconditionally in love that it physically hurt.” And now he stands, chin up, shoulders heaving, every inch showing pure, animalistic fury in front of Shane, Nat and Belle, and Shane can feel Belle’s cockiness faltering.

“I dare you to take this away from me,” Joe finally whispers, voice breaking. A single tear rolls down his cheek.  
“I fucking dare you.”

Belle is silent. She’s speechless, the first time Shane’s seen her like this.

Shane can still feel the blood sliding down his face, but he can’t focus on it because the unadulterated fury and love all around him makes him lose sense of all of his surroundings.

Joe drops to his knees.

“I know you’re in there, Nat,” he chokes, voice raw with emotion.  
“And I’m begging you, if it’s the only thing I ever beg for in my life, to wake up.”

Then he takes hold of his face with both hands and pulls him into a searing kiss, the blood, tears and heartbreak all mixing together to form something far more powerful than the strongest demon and Nat feels Belle be torn from his body until all that’s left is Joe.

 

And Shane wakes up, heart pounding in his chest, tears running down his cheeks and with Ryan staring, shocked, into his face.  
“We’re going to see Joe and Nat,” he manages finally.  
“We’re going to see them.”  
And Belle doesn’t even try to do anything to hurt him, as Shane feels the sobs be ripped from her throat inside his head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Joe and Nat are people I know irl so if u happen to have a sneaking suspicion u know them I’m begging u to not tell either of them about this fic as, contrary to popular belief, I do like not being judged and avoided like the plague thanks


	6. I did some art fuckers

https://ollyoctopus.tumblr.com/post/176583139057/yes-i-did-create-a-tumblr-just-for-my-shitty

It’s bad, it’s honestly very bad but I made it and if yall could go follow and appreciate the bad stuff I do I’ll love you forever thanks


	7. The Leader of the Shaniacs

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> good morning I have decided my kink is Ryan saying “with that being said, let’s get into the theories” suck my dick
> 
> This chapter was made a teensy weensy bit fluffier, funnier and shippier because 1) didn’t we all need a break from tears and boners and 2) a darling messaged me over tumblr because they’d recently been sick and this fic cheered them up, so hola bitches it’s cheering up time for the invalid yay
> 
> Enjoy :)

The second Ryan steps into the office, no less than five people jump on him.

“RYANNNNN!!!”  
“What the fu—“  
“HE’S GONNA DO IT. AGAIN.”  
“WE PREPARED YOU A BAG OF POPCORN ESPECIALLY!!”  
“Hang on, where’s Ned and Keith—“  
“NED’S WITH ARIEL, AND WE DON’T KNOW WHERE KEITH IS SO THAT MEANS—!”  
“HANG ON, SARA, DOES THAT MEAN WHAT I THINK—“  
“HE MIGHT ACTUALLY DO IT THIS TIME!!”  
“FUCK ME, STEVEN, TAKE ME THERE.”

Steven, Sara, Andrew (not the creepy one), TJ and Kelsey are basically jumping up and down with excitement, Andrew perhaps less so but he’s still grinning all over his face.  
“Where’s Shane?” Sara asks animatedly as TJ and Kelsey each grab one of Ryan’s hands and drag him off down the corridor.  
“Er, I’m not sure, I think he went for a nap…? Something like that,” replies Ryan, more than a little flustered. Sara makes a frustrated noise.  
“Shit! He’d be so fun at a time like this; he loves winding up Zach and he loves drama… he must be tired as fuck to miss out on this.”  
“Maybe,” says Ryan, thinking of the car journey with some worry. Shane had been so… off. But then again, he’s been off for the last couple of days. Maybe he picked up something in the house, and infected dust really is a thing.

“We’ll film it for him,” announces Steven ardently. “He can’t miss out on this.”

Andrew looks somewhat like he’s about to snog Steven out of excitement.  
“This is just, god— when I think about how long he’s wanted to ask Eugene for… it might be a record in slow burns in the buzzfeed office. We should make a leaderboard.”  
“With Ryan and Shane right at the top,” mutters Steven, quiet enough so that Ryan can’t hear him. Andrew kicks him swiftly on the leg.

“I think they were in the kitchenette when I last saw them,” ventures Kelsey at once, noticing the guilty look on Steven’s face. “At least, that’s where I last saw Zach. With cupcakes. Shitting himself.”  
“I mean. Sounds like Zach.”  
“Does rather, doesn’t it,” Kelsey echoes, finally grinding to a halt at the kitchenette. “And judging by the remarkably subtle whispers from every corner of the room, I’m assuming he and Eugene are just out of our line of vision, looking at each other with very, very stupid looks on their faces and with Zach struggling to say anything at all.”  
“Perfect.”

“Uh, Eugene…?”

Ryan can hear something of what’s going on as he squeezes past his friends, almost falling into Brent’s lap and hissing a quick apology as he makes his way to the front. Poor Eugene, of course, is blissfully unaware of the fact that 97% of his co workers (the extra three percent being violently ill at home or possibly kidnapped) are watching them from every corner of the room, behind furniture, under desks, pretending to get drinks that are now overflowing onto the counters etc etc, but Zach sure as fuck isn’t.

In fact, Ryan doesn’t think he’s ever seen Zach so wildly uncomfortable since someone asked him to rate a new girl in the office out of ten and Zach had to explain just how Not Into Girls he was. God bless.

He’s fiddling with the hem of his T-shirt, eyes darting everywhere but Eugene, teeth on his lower lip and a shaking coffee cup in his hand.  
“Erm, Zach? Are you okay?”  
“I… Er…”  
He looks completely helpless, and Ryan hears a soft “oh my god wouldn’t you just die for him” from Sara beside him. He has to agree.  
“I honestly want to get up there myself and remind Zach that, to get somewhere with Eugene, he has to use proper big-boy words.” This is TJ, who looks vaguely distressed at the whole thing. 

Zach appears to compose himself, and Ryan straightens up, ignoring the ‘slapslapslapslap’ on his wrist from a very excitable Kelsey.  
“What I mean to say, Eugene… is that…” he takes a deep breath. “I think you’re really funny, really cool, nice, hot as shit, and I’ve liked you for ages. So, um, will you go out with me?” He waits, looking like he might burst into tears.  
“Surely there’s better adjectives than that,” mutters Sara, a rather impressive feat within itself considering she looks like she’s going to smash her face into the wall if Eugene says no.

“Wow, Zach… I never realised. Er, holy shit.” Eugene, who had previously been looking a weird cocktail of confused and worried, is now just as flustered as Zach, a pink flush travelling across his face and neck.  
“ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME,” cries someone across the room, and their friend must have kicked them because they let out a little ‘oof’ and shut up immediately. Eugene jumps, noticing they have an audience for the first time. Zach appears lightly suicidal.   
“They just turn up,” he says in a pained way. “I think they’ve done this the last twelve times. It’s really nothing new.”  
“...Oh.”  
“We have pools for the number of times it would take,” says Kelsey unhelpfully, and Ryan internally facepalms.

Kelsey, no matter how much Ryan loves her, is so fucking unhelpful.

“Oh,” mumbles Eugene again, the blush deepening. “Oh, well, Zach?”  
“...Yes?” Zach looks like he might die.   
“I like you too. And all that stuff you said about me?” He scratches the back of his neck, eyes dropping to the floor. “...Thank you. And, um, I think the same about you. And I’d love it if we went out together, yeah?”

He raises his head so that he’s looking Zach in the face.  
The entire room holds its breath as one.

Then, Zach’s face splits into a huge beam and he winds both of his arms around Eugene’s neck, drags him down to his level and kisses him firmly on the mouth, and the whole room explodes in cheers.

In the deafening noise, cheers and wolf whistles rising from the masses, Eugene blinks once and then melts into the kiss, both hands sliding around Zach’s waist and pulling the, flush together. Somewhere in the crowd, Keith is grudgingly released from where three people have been holding him back by the belt, and Ryan snorts as he falls to the ground with a resounding ‘crash’. Ryan pushes through the rejoicing crowd until he’s standing beside the happy couple, and he nudges Zach who’s still seemingly trying to imprint Eugene’s taste into his mind permanently.  
“Hey, Zach, at some point you both need to breathe, remember?”  
Zach pulls away, pouting, both arms still around Eugene’s neck.  
“Do we have to breathe, Ryan? Do we really?”  
“Uh, last time I checked.”

Zach sighs heavily and lets go of a very-unwilling-to-be-let-go Eugene.  
“Go find a distraction, Gene, I think Ryan wants to chat.”  
Eugene nods and wanders off, but is immediately tackled to the ground by Keith. Zach sniggers and grabs Ryan by the wrist, dragging him away through the crowds, down the hallway and finally pulling him down into a chair and taking a seat in the one next to it. He pulls it closer to Ryan, glances around surreptitiously and rubs his hands together.  
“So… Ryan. Are you and Shane fucking yet? It’s your turn to start getting it on; I’ve had my go.”  
“W-what?!”

Zach opens his mouth, shuts it, then sits back in his chair.   
“Oh. Still haven’t realised?”  
“Realised— realised what exactly?!”  
“Well. That you want to bang Shane. It’s been going on for long enough.”  
“It’s been- I’ve been— what…?”

Ryan looks desperately lost, a flush rising up his face, reminiscent of the one Eugene had had mere minutes before.  
“I don’t understand,” he whispers, a feeling of dread pooling in his stomach that perhaps he understands more than he knows. Zach rubs the bridge of his nose.   
“Well, since apparently no one else feels like breaking it to you, I guess it’s my job. Fantastic.” He takes a hand through his hair, like he’s trying to think of how best to phrase it.  
“You’re in love with him,” he says finally, looking like it’s something he’s having to explain to a toddler. “You love him to distraction, any fool can see that. The only ones who can’t, are you and him.”

 

Ryan stares at Zach with wide eyes, a rush of realisation and memories rushing over him. Oh. Oh.

“It’s dawning, is it?” Zach asks breezily. Ryan nods dumbly.  
“But… wait, does everyone know this? Like, am I the only one who…”  
Ryan trails off as Zach nods quietly, and Zach reaches across and pats his friend’s hand sympathetically.  
“God, Ryan, you’re a sweetheart. I love you so very much, no homo.”  
Ryan narrows his eyes.  
“I’m not fucking three.”  
“Awww, baby…” Zach grins, eyes bright, and he stands up to give Ryan a hug where he’s still sitting rather uselessly in his seat. Ryan briefly considers slapping his hands away, but then sighs and rests his head against Zach.

“And… and what am I meant to do about this? Am I meant to play another you and Eugene scene out on top of the desk? Proclaim my love with a bunch of roses and a box of chocolates and possibly round off the whole thing by wall-slamming him?”  
Zach hums from where he’s still got his arms around Ryan, one thumb smoothing along his shoulder.  
“I mean, the chocolates wouldn’t go amiss; neither would the wall-slam come to think of it. I wouldn’t care. I’m sure Shane wouldn’t, either.”

Ryan sighs deeply.  
“I dunno, Zach. He’s been acting weird.”  
“Maybe you gave him blue balls?”  
“Nah, not that. He’s been… well.”

Ryan frowns and thinks back to that morning.  
“He said some... stuff. Like, really shitty stuff to say, stuff he’d never dream of saying normally. Then, the second after he said if, he completely forgot that he’d ever said anything at all and seemed really shocked when I confronted him. And the night before, he got really fucking scared. And you know Shane; he never, ever gets scared by anything! It’s dumb. I just, I don’t get it. And I’m worried for him… it’s weird.”  
Zach ‘aww’s and cuddles Ryan closer to him, half patronisingly and half genuinely sympathetically.  
“Gosh, Ryan, never thought you’d be one for being frightened for somebody else. Frightened of ghosts and demons, yes, but Shane? Not really.”

He hums again, seeming to think about it.  
“Maybe… its a long shot, but… just maybe...”  
“What? What is it?”

Zach shrugs.  
“Have you thought about the possibility that perhaps you didn’t leave that house alone? Have thought that maybe, just maybe, Shane found something? Something that maybe wasn’t that nice? Like, um, a demon?”  
He bites his lip, resting his chin on Ryan’s head.  
“I don’t know. But, would it really be that much of a stretch? Like, considering what you believe… then evidence of what’s happened in the past… and then thinking about what Shane’s been like. It’s a possibility.”  
Ryan frowns.  
“So, you’re saying that Shane might be possessed? By… by a demon?” He chews on a hangnail. “I roleplayed with a demon?”  
Zach almost chokes to death on air, and his fingers dig into Ryan’s shoulders.  
“You— you WHAT!?”  
Ryan shakes his head and waves Zach off.  
“It’s literally nothing, nowhere near as kinky or exciting as you’re imagining. I’m just kind of… wow.”

He cranes his neck so that he can look Zach in the face.  
“Do you really think so?”  
“Yeah I think so. But, who knows. I might be completely wrong and you dream-cheated on him.”  
“That’s- that’s exactly what he said, funnily enough. Had everyone heard of this dream cheating except me?”  
“Evidently so.”

Zach pats Ryan sympathetically on the shoulder and straightens up.  
“Anyways, cuddling and therapy session over for today, I’m off to find my possibly-who-knows-maybe-I’m-not-even-sure boyfriend. Either way, he’s excellent at kissing, probably done being tackled by Keith, and I want to be made out with. See you.”  
He starts to walk away, then pauses mid-step.  
“By the way,” he calls back to Ryan who has already gotten to his feet. “We have pools for you and Shane as well. And my bet is coming up next week, Friday, so if you wouldn’t mind…?”  
Ryan snorts and tries not to think about his friends conspiratorially making bets on when he’d ask Shane out.   
“I’ll see what I can do,” he says, and Zach gives him the thumbs up before making his way back to where the noise is beginning to die down. Ryan exhales.

It’s insane; the thought that Shane Madej, the famed non-believer, the leader of the shaniacs… could possibly be involved in something like this. After all, Ryan has never met anyone so fervently opposed to the mere idea of ghosts and demons existing, and Shane himself has never been able to keep a secret in his life. But now here he is, with the biggest secret in the history of humanity, and he’s not telling Ryan, his best friend about it!

One secret, thinks Ryan as he walks back off down the hall.

Maybe two, if what Zach’s saying is anything to go by… could Shane like him back? Is it possible that, maybe, just maybe, that play-fight meant more to both Shane and Ryan than either of them had been letting on?

Or, thinks Ryan with a shudder, what if it’s really just the demon? And he’ll never get Shane back? 

The thought is too frightening to even bear thinking about, but nevertheless it’s there and it’s a possibility. Ryan leans against the wall, trying to think things through in his head. Could that be why Shane wanted to go and see Joe and Nathaniel in Italy? Because he thought they might be able to help in some way. Or… or, there’s the awful possibility that it was just the demon, Belle Moore speaking and she only wanted to go so that she could finish off what she had started with people she never managed to do any harm to… ugh.  
It’s a thought Ryan hates entertaining, but? If it was Shane, if it really was Shane and the demon didn’t have control then… huh. Maybe it would be possible to set something up.

Not Italy, thinks Ryan as he stares absently at some art on the opposite wall.  
No trips to Italy, not today and not without at least some good plans to go along with the visit, but perhaps a Skype call can be set up…?

Who knows.

If nothing else, it’ll at least make Ryan feel like something of a better friend, because he’s not sure he’s ever felt worse than when Shane has his chest heaving, tears streaming down his face, clearly terrified out of his wits and Ryan has to sit there uselessly next to him and explain that it’s still a good thirty miles from home. 

No, Ryan concludes eventually.  
Something must be done.  
Whether it’s about the possible demon or the definite hard crush Ryan now knows he’s harbouring for his best friend, something must be done and it’s Ryan’s job to make sure everything turns out okay.

It has to be okay...

It has to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Believe it or not there was some plot in there so


	8. “Ryan?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, I’ve had summer school, my birthday and in general a bit of a tricky/busy time so it’s been very difficult to find time to write and I do apologise for the late chapter. It also might not be incredible, but hey I tried and we’re nearly over with now anyway :)
> 
> Er, enjoy!

When Shane comes to, he can’t move.

He just lays there, staring up at the ceiling, an increasing feeling of panic settling over him and breath coming in short, sharp bursts that sound like they come from a dying man in the silent bathroom. The only other noise is the constant thrumming of the ventilation system, and even that he can barely hear due to the blood rushing through his ears.

“Ryan?”

The call is quiet, scared, pathetic, and Shane only just manages to get it out. Ryan’s not there. Why would Ryan be there?  
“You’re still calling for him… that’s cute. Pitiful, yes, but cute too.”  
She’s using his mouth, letting her words escape the confines of Shane’s mind and allowing them to spill into the air around them. Shane’s throat constricts.  
“W-why are you doing this?”  
He sounds terrified and he knows it, but the subsequent embarrassment is snuffed almost at once by the realisation that he’s alone in this cramped   
bathroom. There’s no one to hear him. There’s no one to help him.  
“And what would anyone do to help if they could hear you?” Belle taunts him using his own voice, her words falling from his lips and tasting like blood in his mouth. Shane shivers.

“Get up,” she says, and for the first time Shane’s body follows obediently, knees bending and elbows helping to heave him into a sitting position, then standing, until Shane’s body is swaying a little precariously in the middle of the bathroom floor. It’s like Shane is detached from his own body, and what is moving now is merely Belle’s puppet.

Shane has no control whatsoever over his own movements, and he can feel his heart pounding furiously in his chest.

Be it fear, anger, or just some demoney thing that Shane isn’t aware of, although Shane’s body is succumbing to Belle’s will, his brain and heart sure as fuck aren’t. What does she even want to do, anyway?

As though reading Shane’s mind (which, to be honest, she probably is), Belle lets out a little contemptuous sound and sighs.  
“You still don’t get it? Still? I’m in charge here. This is mine now. Soon, your brain will be too… and then? Then everything will all be over for you. I’m dying, and so were you the second you let me in. And now I’m going to drag you down with me, but not before I’ve made sure the last moments of your life are pure hell. Are you ready, Shane? Are you ready believe in me until you can’t close your eyes without seeing his dead body on the backs of your eyelids?”

Her words are an echo of the first time they met, and Shane feels his blood run cold. This time, he knows it’s from the fear.

And the world blurs and turns into a dark haze of terror and pain as Shane feels the blackness that’s slowly spreading through his body slide over his eyes until there’s nothing left but darkness and soft, cruel laughter.

***

“What do I say?”

TJ shrugs, just out of sight of the webcam that Ryan’s reluctantly peeled the masking tape off of.  
“I would assume, whatever you want to know. Probably good starting points would be along the lines of, ‘oh, yeah, you know that whole business about the demon? Yeah, elaborate on that disaster please’. Or the classic, ‘hi, I’m Ryan, let’s spill some tea on that demon you used to live with’. You know?”  
Ryan rolls his eyes.  
“Gosh, please don’t hold back on the sarcasm. What’s the matter with you?”  
“Well, where do you want me to start?”

The taller man steps away from the wall, brow furrowed and normally calm demeanour tainted with an unexpected edge.  
“You think Shane is a demon, you think you’ve- what was it?- roleplayed with a demon? And now you decide the only plausible thing to do is contact the guys who probably never want to be reminded of their experience ever again?”  
“...Well, when you put it that way…”  
“This is so stupid, I can’t believe you’re—“  
“Hi, there!”

TJ stops mid sentence and quickly moves away from Ryan as the camera focuses in on the face of an unfamiliar man. Ryan clears his throat.

“Hey, I’m Ryan Bergara from buzzfeed unsolved. It’s um, a web series-“  
“Oh, yes, I know about buzzfeed, I do have a WiFi signal.”  
Ryan sniggers and even TJ seems to soften a little off-camera.  
“Great. Um, I contacted you- er, I think it’s you? Sorry, shit, who are you?”  
“I quite forgot to mention, I’m the butler— no, I’m kidding, I’m Joe,” he says with an eye roll at Ryan’s instantly worried expression. “Lamb.”  
TJ snorts.   
“Uh, sorry, um. Hi, Joe. Do you have Nathaniel there with you?”

For one awful second, Ryan convinced himself that Nathaniel is dead or something and he got the whole situation horribly wrong- then Joe sighs deeply in an exaggerated fashion and gestures vaguely to the left.  
“He naffed off to the kitchen to make himself a sandwich. It’s like being married to a six year old, honestly; we had lunch half an hour ago.”  
“Aww.”  
“No, not aww, this utter child is fifty five— and oh look, speak of the devil.”  
Now, another man wanders into frame and instantly drapes himself over Joe.  
“Charmed?”  
“It’s the bloke who spoke to us about the whole demonic possession thing.”  
“Yes, honey, which one?”  
“Buzzfeed.”  
“Ooooooh.”

Nathaniel nods, kisses Joe on the head and straightens up.  
“Are we filming?”  
“We have it on screen record, yes, but we’ll be editing the footage. Why, is that a problem…?”  
“Nah, nah. I just tend to say shit I shouldn’t roughly every five seconds.”

He grins and pulls out a chair to sit down on as Ryan tries to remember why he’s there in the first place.   
“Oh, right, um. First question I have for you guys, what do you think was the first signs of demonic possession in the Moore House?” Ryan sees Joe involuntarily cringe at the sound of the name, and he makes a mental note to try and say it as rarely as possible.  
“Umm… it was just… it kind of came all at once. Like, nothing, then boom, the kitchen table’s laying on the floor.” Nathaniel nods in agreement.  
“Yeah, the library was fucking weird, too. Cold. You’d hear stuff coming from inside, even when you hadn’t been in for weeks… then, er, yes.” He shrugs. “You know what happened, I assume.”  
“Vaguely.”  
“That’ll do just fine.”

Ryan gets more comfortable in his chair and glances across at TJ who gives him the thumbs up. It’ll do.

“Ok, can you tell me what the turning point was for you two leaving the house?”

Joe’s head immediately turns to look at his husband, who coughs.  
“It’s completely fine if you don’t want to answer,” says Ryan hurriedly at the unsure looks on the two men’s faces.  
“No, no, it’s okay. Just some people are weird about it.”  
“If you decide you don’t want it in the end cut we’ll take it out…?”  
“...It’ll be grand, I’m sure.”

Nathaniel sits up a little straighter and his hand moves across to trace reussuring circles into Joe’s palm.

“Er. I got possessed by the demon. She was- or it was, I should say- not the best experience I’ve ever had in my life. Like, think a hormonal teenage girl with the ability to put you in so much pain it feels like you might die… and the ability to kill you off altogether. It was rough.” He bites his lip. “I get it if you don’t believe because it’s hard to find anyone that does… but…”

His eyes flicker across to Joe.  
“There’s… scars.”  
Joe nods, a silent assent and Nathaniel slides his sleeve up. 

Amongst the freckles, are five long, white scars, all lined up next to each other and all different lengths like someone’s fingernails had been dragged up his arm. Ryan sucks in a breath.  
“I believe you… I- in fact, well- I…”  
“Take your time,” murmurs Nathaniel, shaking his sleeve back down as Ryan searches for the right words and Joe silently watches the scars disappear with the cotton of Nathaniel’s shirt.  
“I…” Ryan rests his chin on his hand. “I think my friend’s possessed.”

There’s a pause, in which Joe’s eyes go wide and Nathaniel remembers he has a sandwich and takes a bite before dropping it again.  
“What… What makes you think that?”  
“Er, well, we stayed in the Moore- um, your old house for the night, and—-“  
“Ryan, quick question, and do not take this the wrong way, but are you fucking suicidal?”  
Er… no…?”  
“Great, okay, just checking.” Nat continues eating the sandwich and waves Ryan on. “Do continue.”  
“Right. Um, he’s just… he’s acting weird. Like he switches moods and attitudes so fast, he said stuff that he can’t remember saying, he has pain for no reason and…”

Ryan shivers.

“He was cold. He went into the library, and… oh, god, he was so cold…”  
There’s silence, and Ryan realises both Nathaniel and Joe are staring at him.  
“...Sorry. I’m just, I’m scared for him. I don’t know what’s happening.”  
“Fuck,” Nat mutters, sandwich halted halfway to his mouth. “Oh my fucking god, I’m so sorry, what the fuck.”

Ryan can see Joe wants to shove him for using that kind of language, but he can’t quite bring himself to.  
“Where’s your friend?” He says at last.  
“I don’t know. I think he went for a nap.”  
“Don’t tell him you think anything. Don’t do anything that might make him think you know. Do nothing; and when the time comes, he’s going to need you to bring him out of where he’s trapped. For now, please don’t believe a word that comes out of his mouth because it might not be him and you could put both of you in extreme danger.”  
“But what…? How…?”  
“Personally, I recommend a make out sesh to bring loved ones out of demon trance thingies but honest to god it just depends on what your gut is telling you is right.”

This, of course, is Nathaniel and Joe smiles fondly at him.  
“Yeah, if you’re pals possibly a classic bro hug wouldn’t go amiss. But honestly, be careful, be so fucking careful because she’s dangerous. She’s more dangerous than you could possibly know.”  
Ryan nods a little shakily, his head spinning.  
“Um, well, thank you. Joe, Nathaniel-“  
“Nat, call me Nat, Nathaniel sounds so fucking pretentious.”

Nat waves his hands about a bit.  
“Oh, yes, Lord Nathaniel Carter-Moore the fucking fifteenth, would you care for a scone with that cup of tea?”

Ryan wheezes in spite of himself, and he catches Joe grinning out of the corner of his eye. It’s so domestic and adorable that it makes Ryan’s chest hurt a little.

“Yes. Well. Joe, Nat, thank you so much for talking to me, and I hope you have a good day!” Ryan manages a smile and after the compulsory smiles and goodbyes had been exchanged he ends the call and shuts his laptop. TJ exhales loudly.  
“You’re serious, then?”  
“You have no idea.”

***

The knife is cold in Shane’s hand.

He’s got big hands, Belle notes, strong.

Ryan’s are stronger, though, and for a second Belle considers bitterly just taking Shane to the gym and giving it a couple of days before killing them both, but no. 

No. 

She’s waited long enough.

Shane’s breaths come laboured and at odd times and Belle honestly doesn’t know how much longer he’ll be able to hold onto this fragile state of being in the body he can barely even stay in.

His fingers are bleeding, too.

Belle suspects it was from shutting the door on them, but to be completely honest she has no idea because, surprise, she has no fucking nerve endings.

No, Shane can be hurt all she wants but she must be careful… because while she can’t be hurt with knives and bullets, emotional hurt does resonate like a bitch and this body is particularly bad for it.

Nat?

Nat, with his husband and his house and being woken up with kisses and fingers trailing down his stomach?

He had none of this stupid unrequited love shit that Shane has.

Belle guides Shane’s hand up, testing, fingering the knife’s blade and she curses a little when tiny droplets of blood appear and Shane’s grip falters.

No, no, can’t afford to drop it on your foot.

I need you moving.

I need you capable of murder.

Shane’s movements are slow, clumsy, and Belle tries to remember when he last ate something because even for a delicate, bruised body this is poor.

Then she brushes it off because it’s not like he’s going to be alive much longer anyway.

Footsteps are the hardest, and moving close to the wall with knife in the other hand is the best bet she has at the moment.

Ryan, then.

Where will Ryan be?

They stop.

“Ryan?” 

Belle is good at making him talk at least, because that’s the easy bit.

Yes, his voice sounds rougher around the edges and yes, it’s monotonous as shit but he’s talking and he still sounds like him.

Good.

“Ryan?”

Keep moving, keep close to the wall, hide the bloody hand, oh FUCK they’re leaving a trail of blood, aren’t they?

The carpet behind them, sure enough, has tiny drops of a murky red substance trailing all the way along from the bathroom and Belle would probably care more if she needed to keep up the front for much longer.

But she doesn’t need long at all.

All she needs is a few minutes, the knife and a trusting, enamoured Ryan who takes the blade to the hilt before he even knows what’s happening.

Somewhere, she can feel Shane trying to make himself known, pathetic attempts to turn or to stop but at this point he’s so weak it’s like kicking over a baby trying to stand.

“Ryan?”

His jeans are getting bloody.

“Ryan?”

The stupid studio that Ryan loves so much; that’ll be it.

Belle drags Shane’s body round the corner, a few more laboured steps and then they collapse against the wooden door that Shane has scrawled “Ryan’s a pussy” on in the top corner.

They make a huge sound falling against it because oh yes Belle did quite forget she’s handling about twelve feet of pure leg and gay angst.

“Ryan?”

She raises his hand to knock and Shane’s bleeding fist just kind of falls uselessly against the wood.

“Ryan… Ryan, I want to talk to you.”

The door swings open unceremoniously and Shane’s body falls like a sack of bricks onto the floor, landing with a resounding thump.

And there, standing above them, one hand clutching a laptop and the other steadying himself against the desk is Ryan Bergara himself, face unreadable.

“Ryan,” says Shane’s voice, cracking halfway through the single word. “Help me up. Help me.”

Ryan doesn’t move.

“...Ryan?”

“Belle,” Ryan says finally.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This week on: Olly Thinks They’re Artistic and Not Just Half Assing It


	9. Warm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this has been a fucking rollercoaster and I’m kinda sad to see it go so as a teeny bonus I’m going to leave my original idea draft in the end chapter notes so you can snigger and marvel at how Wildly Different it is... thank you so much for sticking with me through this disaster, and I appreciate every single comment and kudos. I love you so much, and subscribe because this will sure as fuck not be the only bfu fanfic I ever post. Bye, and enjoy the last chapter!

Shane looks dead.

If it were not for the erratic rising and falling of the chest and the gentle fluttering of his eyelashes every one and again, Ryan would probably think it was too late to save him.

But no…  
No. There’s time, and Ryan fully intends to use all the time he possibly can.

“What did you do with him?”  
There’s silence.  
“With your friend?” The voice is cold, unfamiliar, distinctly female and distinctly Not Shane Madej. “Why? Is there a problem, officer?”  
Ryan swallows, clenching his hands into tight fists to stop his fingers trembling. This might be the most scared he’s ever been in his life, but Shane’s life is far more important than anything right now.  
“You’re… you’re hurting him.”  
“And what of it?”  
“I… stop… “ Ryan’s hands tremble. “I care about him.”  
“Caring never got you anywhere~”

Shane’s head lolls to one side in Belle’s attempt to look at Ryan, and on closer inspection Ryan can see that half of his face is bruised and red. The breath gets caught in his throat at the sight.  
“Shane,” he tries, and Belle laughs.  
“Shane isn’t available right now. Although cute, you’re still calling for him even after all this? You really must love him.”

Ryan’s heart skips a beat.

“L-love?”  
“Oh, don’t tell me you’re still in denial…”  
Ryan shakes his head, then internally kicks himself. Why is he going through this with a fucking demon? And does EVERYONE seriously know this except him?!  
“I… I want him back.”  
“And I want to go to the moon but we don’t see that happening, do we?”

Suddenly, Ryan notices Shane’s left hand and he blanches. The blood is trickling out of his fist, and a blade is clutched in his palm.  
“Let him go!”  
“No, I don’t think I will, thanks.”

Suddenly and without warming, Shane’s head is thrown back and his eyes fly open and Ryan almost trips over his own feet in his haste to get back. His head smacks against the floor with a sickening “crack” and, and when Ryan hesitantly peers over, he can see that Shane’s eyes are as black as the night sky.  
“You’re killing him!!”  
Shane’s breaths come rattling, harsh, and like every intake of breath is causing him intense pain. Ryan wants to cry.  
“You can’t… stop…”  
Ryan doesn’t know what he’d expected, but even in his darkest nightmares he could never have imagined a scene like this. He could never have believed that someone would ever do this to a human being.

“Shane!”

Ryan drops to his knees beside his best friend, head spinning and mouth dry.  
“Shane, come back to me… don’t leave…”

Ryan’s head falls onto Shane’s chest hopelessly, and he winds his fingers into Shane’s own, ignoring the hot stickiness of the blood from where he’s let it touch his injured left hand. Belle’s cruel laugh reverberates around Shane’s body, and Ryan holds on tighter.  
“It’s too late, Ryan,” she cackles. “It’s been too late for longer than you could possibly know.”

Ryan feels Shane’s other hand move without seeing, and he buries his face in the dip between Shane’s shoulder and his neck. The skin is icy cold. 

His hold on Shane’s hand goes tighter still and, just for a second, he feels Shane’s fingers twitch beneath his own as if in a last desperate attempt to return to his friend. 

And the knife moves slowly in Shane’s clenched first, jumpy and coming ever closer to where Ryan’s laying over Shane’s body in some sort of hope that this will protect him from what’s underneath his own skin. In anticipation of what he knows must be coming, Ryan screws his eyes shut and huddled closer to the cold shell of his best friend.  
“I love you, Shane,” he whispers, the words wrenched from his throat and his heart weighing like a rock in his chest.  
“I fucking… I love you so, so much.”

And it’s as though time stops.

The impending knife stops.

And Ryan just about stops breathing.

“What?” says Belle sharply.

Ryan dares to look up.

Shane’s hand is hovering above them both, still gripping the knife’s handle and teetering just over Ryan’s back. Just for a second, it trembles.  
Then Shane clumsily throws it and it lands with a clatter on the hard floor. 

His hand quivers in the air.

Then, it falls back down onto Ryan, almost as though he’s holding him in an awkward embrace, Ryan sprawled on top of him, hand covering Shane’s own and head balancing on his chest… only he’s not. He’s not holding him.

In fact, he’s not doing anything at all.

“What?” Belle says, louder, voice higher and panicked and angry and Ryan turns his head to look at Shane’s unmoving lips that Belle can no longer manipulate. Belle’s voice is completely detached, now, somewhere in the air, and Ryan drags his eyes across to where Shane’s fingers lay limp on the floor beneath Ryan’s.   
“No,” whispers Ryan.

“No!” he shouts, louder, scrambling up, both hands flying to Shane’s face and shaking him frantically. “Shane! Shane, fuck! It’s not funny! This isn’t- FUCK!!”   
He’s screaming, now, tears trickling down his cheeks and fingernails making grooves in his best friend’s cold, lifeless flesh. “No! Shane! SHANE!!” The screams descend to sobs. “Shane… Shane, god…”  
He wants to lift his head, to hold him close, to hug him and kiss his hair and tell him he’s okay and convince himself that Shane will wake up, anything, that he’ll come back round… but he doesn’t. Shane’s body is fragile, delicate, like holding glass that could shatter at any second, making broken shards scatter across the floor. Deadly.  
“Oh god- I never meant… I never wanted…” 

“Why didn’t you stop her?” says the tiny voice inside Ryan’s head.   
“Why did you let her get him? Why did you just let him die?”

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I promise I’ll fix this, I promise, Shane—“  
“But it’s too late,” hisses the voice.  
“No, no, no, it’s never too late, I can fix this… I can…”  
Ryan swallows.  
“I can fix this, Shane. I promise. I promise I’ll fix it.”

Shane can’t hear him, but that barely matters. All that matters is that the creature that did this to him is somewhere above their heads, watching the whole scene play out like a little movie. Perhaps it’s even entertained.

“Belle,” says Ryan at last, cold anger making its way into his voice. “I know you’re there. I know you’re fucking there. I’m going to kill you.”  
“You’re not,” says the voice back, regaining some of its composure.  
“You can’t. You’re mortal, you’re pathetic, and you’re hurting.” It lets out a soft hiss, almost like it’s in pain. “I can feel your hurt. I can feel it.”

“It burns, doesn’t it Ryan,” it continues, wrapping its black tendrils around Ryan’s chest and squeezing tight as though to crush all the air out of his body. “It burns like fire in your chest, doesn’t it? What does it feel like, losing him? Losing your best friend, your co worker, the one you love most in the world?”  
Ryan can barely breathe, now; the demon’s words curling around his body and poisoning his mind.  
“That’s right,” it whispers, “just let go. Let yourself die. What do you even have to live for anymore? If he’s gone, and you’re left here in the mortal realm, what’s it even worth to cling onto the dregs of life?”

The cold embrace of the promise of death is comforting, almost, and Ryan lets the obsidian spirals entangle around his body, holding him in a suffocating grip until Ryan’s eyes fly open.

No.

No! What is he doing?

He fights back against the demon furiously, concentrating as hard as he possibly can until the tendrils unfurl and Ryan’s standing his ground in the middle of the room with Shane’s dead body beside him and the promise of more death to come swirling somewhere over his head.  
“Ry, Ry, Ry,” it taunts, enjoying the twisting of his head whenever he hears the words echoing off the walls. “Oh Ryan, baby, you’re so cute… thinking if you get rid of me he’ll come back and it’ll all be okay again.”

And now its voice changes, morphing back into the oh so painfully familiar voice of Shane, manipulating his words.  
“Ryan, please, save me, save me, oh; it hurts…”  
Ryan’s stomach clenches.  
“Please, Ry, please don’t let me die!” It laughs softly. “Haha, rhymes.”

White hot anger burns in Ryan’s stomach, boiling up inside him like there’s fire licking at his body.  
“No.” Ryan steps forwards, footsteps feeling like they’re being guided by an unseen force, Ryan’s own head too clouded in anger to do anything for himself. It feels as though there’s a glowing light surrounding his form, lifting him up, making him feel stronger and giving him back lost determination.  
“And why should I?” The demon sounds smug, gleeful, rejoicing in Ryan’s anger… but Ryan’s not done quite yet. Words are being put into his mouth, like someone- or something- is trying to help him.

“Because, if you don’t, the consequences will be indescribably painful.”

The demon’s laughter stops. It chokes.  
“I… I…”  
“You heard me.”

This time, it’s the demon’s turn to let fear slip into its voice, and Ryan feels a great surge of power.  
“Wait- hold on, I’ll—“  
“No,” Ryan repeats, except that of course it’s not Ryan. Not any more.  
“Your time on this Earth has been spent causing nothing but destruction and pain and terror,” says The Angel. “You have cost this person his friend’s life; you have terrorised four young men and you have no right to remain here.”  
“No,” tries the demon frantically, “no, no, I want another chance, I’ve made a mistake, I—-“  
“Stop. That’s enough. I am sending you back where you came from, and if you ever dare to try anything like this again your feeble life is going to be worse than the horrors of hell.”  
“I’ll perish!” The demon cries.  
“Then perish.”

And the tortured screams echo around the tiny studio room as the weight that’s been steadily piling on Ryan’s shoulders lifts and all that’s left is Warm.

The Angel slowly releases Ryan from its divine hold, and fully-human Ryan breathes in air that’s tainted with the sickly sweet scent of death.   
“Hello, Ryan Bergara,” says Andrew, The Angel, in a voice that feels like being held close in a mother’s arms. Soft, comforting, safe. “I’m sorry.”  
“For what?” asks Ryan, a little dazed.  
“I’m sorry I couldn’t save him from death. I’m sorry I couldn’t stop her to begin with. I’m so, so sorry you had to go through all of this.”

Ryan nods slowly.  
“...Oh.”  
He thinks.  
“Is he, you know… there? With you? In heaven?”

The question sounds like it comes from a child, and Ryan knows it but he can’t find it within himself to care. All he wants to know is that Shane is happy. Andrew takes his sweet time to answer.  
“He’s here,” he says finally. “But you needn’t-“  
“I want him back,” whispers Ryan numbly. “Please, I… I just want him back. More than anything else.”

To Ryan, it feels as though the words are ripped from his throat, a confession, abrasive and completely ridiculous in the darkened room, and he doesn’t expect Andrew to even reply to him. But Andrew, somehow, seems to understand what he means perfectly.  
“I’m going to see what I can do,” he promises with what sounds like a smile in his voice. A smile? From Andrew? Impossible.  
“Thank you,” Ryan breathes, because he knows if he spoke any louder or said anything more he’d completely break down altogether and no one wants that.

 

It’s like the light was There, and then as soon as came it’s gone; leaving only silence and murky gloom and Ryan and The Body.

Ryan kneels, slowly, dropping to his knees beside Shane.  
“Hey,” he murmurs quietly. “Can you hear me, man?”

He’s not expecting an answer, and isn’t upset when he receives none.  
“Yeah, didn’t think so. Been a long day, huh? I went ahead and spoke to Nathaniel- sorry, Nat and Joe without you, I hope you don’t mind. But I figured, in the end, if you really were a demon it was probably safest to not say anything to you about- well, anything. And look.” Ryan lifts his hands a little, gestures around the dismayingly empty room and then drops them to his lap. “I was right.

“Seems insane that less than a week ago you were normal old Shane Madej with your dumb fucking laugh and your stupid hot daga and the dream life… and now look. You’re here. Laying on the ground. Dead.”  
Ryan tries to laugh.  
He can’t.  
“I miss you,” he says finally, voice trembling.   
“You’ve not been gone an hour and already I miss you. And I meant all that shit I said before… I’d do anything to have been able to save you. I’d do anything now, actually. And…” he swallows. “I love you to distraction, Shane. I love you more than words can say. And here you are, dying before we’ve even had our first kiss.”  
Ryan gets to his feet, all the words that have been building up inside of him finally being put out into the open and Shane looks peaceful. Good.

“I’ll get somebody,” he says sadly to the air. He turns.

“I don’t have to,” says a voice from behind him, and Ryan stiffens in shock. He doesn’t quite dare to turn back around.  
“W-what?”  
There’s a tiny scuffling noise, a short ‘oof’ and the sound of shoe soles making contact with the floor.  
“I don’t have to go before we have our first kiss,” says Shane Alexander Madej, the grin blatantly showing in his tone and Ryan spins around without even bothering to check it’s safe and flies straight into his best friend’s arms.

And no words are said as they kiss, the sheer desperation and relief and joy of having each other back needing no explanation other than the rough scrape of Shane’s stubble and both of Ryan’s arms clinging around his neck like he wants to stay pressed against his mouth and never, ever let go again. 

Shane’s fingers brush against Ryan’s cheek, cupping his face, holding him closer still until Ryan finally pulls back and rests their foreheads together, not quite wanting to relinquish the feeling of Shane’s skin against his own quite yet.  
“I thought I’d lost you, you fucker,” he hisses, raw emotion making it hard for him to get the words out. Shane kisses him softly, chastely, then breaks the kiss to talk to his friend.  
“I thought I’d lost you too. I was so, so scared, you have no idea… I didn’t know what she’d do to you. I didn’t know what to do myself.”  
“I’d do anything for you,” says Ryan with such fierceness and conviction that Shane blinks a little.  
“Glad to see the feeling’s mutual.”

There’s a comfortable silence that no one quite seems to want to break, in which Shane kisses Ryan again and again and Ryan Does Not Complain.

“So,” says Shane finally, pulling back from Ryan’s lips. “Are we telling people about, er, us? Are we a thing?”  
“I think so,” replies Ryan. “And yes, we’ll tell people. But,” he adds, “we’re telling them it was on Tuesday. The Tuesday coming up.”

Shane shakes his head, laughing fondly.  
“I’ll not ask questions, shall I?”  
“...Nah.”

There’s another silence.

“Ry?”  
“Mm?”

“I love you too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ryan and Shane are in a demonic possessed house and Shane volunteers to go into The Scary RoomTM while Ryan waits outside. He’s just chilling when suddenly there’s a disembodied voice and it’s talking to him, mocking him, saying that it will leave the place with them and Shane begs him to take over his body instead of Ryan’s and the demon does so. And it’s fairly normal, for a while (look I promise I know what I’m talking about inside my head but I’m eating noodles so I’m hurrying), with Shane being quieter than usual and having periods where he stumbles out of rooms and appears ill etc. Ryan begins to get worried (yes, they do have big fat crushes on each other) and asks Shane if he’s ok and Shane says he’s fine, a little pale, before running out of the room to throw up. Ryan’s worries only increase, before they have to stay in a haunted house again and Ryan wakes in the middle of the night to Shane breathing hard, chest rising and falling, head tipped back and eyes dark and he muffles a scream.  
> “Shane?”  
> The demon prolly says something along the lines of “Shane isn’t available” *cue the whole “YOURE KILLING HIM” “correct” etc. (I CARE ABOUT HIM” “caring never gets you anywhere” etc etc and maybe the demon starts making blood drop out the corner of Shane’s lips and there’s screaming and crying and shit.) Ryan tries to get Shane back by yelling his name, shaking him etc before kissing him full on the mouth in a last desperate attempt before there’s a gasping breath and the black eyes soften and there’s a hoarse whisper of “Ryan?” And Ryan’s nearly sobbing and Shane and the demon battle it out before Shane forces him out of his head and there’s like this massive rush of black energy before Shane is left unconscious on the floor. Procedures happen and heart touching reunions and kissing and they all kinda live happily ever after loOK I WANT TO EAT MY NOODLES I KNOW WHAT I MEAN WHEN IM SPOUTING THIS GOBSHITE I UNDERSTAND WHAT IM TALKIMG ABOUT BYE

**Author's Note:**

> LEAVE COMMENTS AND KUDOS PLEASE I NEED VALIDATION TO THE POINT WHERE ITS PROBABLY NOT HEALTHY


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